


The Loss of the Prophecy

by BluC1026



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-04-06 18:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14062827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluC1026/pseuds/BluC1026
Summary: What would have happened if the order did not make it in time to the department of Mysteries...What if the prophecy were lost?





	1. In the Department

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter or any characters I am just playing in J.K. Rowling castle...
> 
> A comment was made about my format and spelling I reviewed and adjusted as necessary, my apologies.

The Death Eaters all halted, gazing at him. Some were panting as hard as he was. One was bleeding badly; Dolohov, freed of the full Body-Bind, was leering, his wand pointed straight at Harry’s face. 

“Potter, your race is run,” drawled Lucius Malfoy, pulling off his mask. “Now hand me the prophecy like a good boy….”

“Let – let the others go and I’ll give it to you!” said Harry desperately. A few Death Eaters laughed.

“You are not in a position to bargain Potter,” said Lucius Malfoy his pale face flushed with pleasure. “You see, there are ten of us and only one of you…or hasn’t Dumbledore ever taught you how to count?”

“He’s dot alone!” shouted a voice from above them. “He’s still god be!”

Harry’s heart sank. Neville was scrambling down the stone benches towards them, Hermione’s wand held fast in his trembling hand. “Neville – no – go back to Ron – “

“STUBEFY!” Neville shouted again, pointing his wand at each Death Eater in turn, “STUBEFY!, “STUBE – “.

One of the largest Death Eaters seized Neville from behind, pinioning his arms to his sides He struggled and kicked; several of the Death Eater laughed. “It’s Longbottom isn’t it? Well your grandmother is used to losing family members to our cause…. Your death will not come as a great shock….”

“Longbottom?” repeated Bellatrix, and a truly evil smile lit her gaunt face. “Why I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents boy….”

“I DOE YOU HAVE!” roared Neville, and he fought so hard against his captor’s encircling grip that the Death Eater shouted, “Someone Stun him!”

“No, no, no,” said Bellatrix. She looked transported, alive with excitement as she glanced at Harry, then back at Neville. “No, let’s see how Longbottom lasts before he cracks like his parent….unless Potter wants to give us the prophecy – “

“DON’T GIB ID TO DEM!” roared Neville, who seemed beside himself, kicking and writhing as Bellatrix drew neared to him and his captor, her wand raised. “DON’T GIB ID TO DEM, HARRY!”

Bellatrix raised her wand. “Crucio!” Neville screamed, his legs drawn up to his chest so that the Death Eater holding him was momentarily holding him off the ground. The Death Eater dropped him and he fell to the floor, twisting and screaming in agony. “That was just a taster!” said Bellatrix, raising her wand so that Neville’s screams stopped and he lay sobbing at her feet. She turned and gazed up at Harry “Now, Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way.”

Harry did not have to think; there was no choice. The Prophecy was hot with the heat from his clutching hand as he held it out. Malfoy jumped forward to take it.

Dropping the prophecy into Malfoy’s waiting hand Harry let his own drop. No sooner had Malfoy stepped back from the dais than Bellatrix screamed “Crucio” with her wand pointed at Harry. The feeling of white hot shards of metal twisting themselves beneath Harry’s skin and into his bones caused Harry to collapse, toppling off the dais and to the stone floor below.

Bellatrix continued to hold her wand on him, relishing in his pain. After what felt an eternity to Harry she release the spell. Harry heard the ringing of the Death Eaters laughter along with the ringing in his own ears. 

“Now, now Bella, don’t get carried away...” Malfoy waived his wand and Harry felt his arms being bound with thick rope behind his back, “He still belongs to the Dark Lord”. He flicked his wand again and Harry was effectively gagged. Looking up, at Malfoy Harry saw him nod his head. Suddenly two sets of hand forced him roughly to his feet. Harry felt his legs shaking, still feeling effects of the curse. He closed his eyes to steady himself as his world began to sway.

“Come,” Malfoy drawled “we have lost enough time and we do not know how much longer Snape can distract the order” At this Harry’s eyes snapped open. Of course Snape, he knew, he wanted Harry to come. Anger washed over him and seemed to crystallize his thoughts. Snape’s response in Umbridge’s office was nothing more than an act for Harry, to make him believe Sirius was trapped with no one to help him.

There was a noise from were Neville was “Harry!” He tried to get up but was hit with another curse from Bellatrix which sent him back to the floor screaming in pain. Harry struggled to get to him shouting through his gag, but was held back by the Death Eaters at his side.

“And him?” The Death Eater behind Neville asked in disgust as the curse was lifted. Malfoy seemed to consider it for a moment before lightly saying “Leave him”, and turning on his heel he moved towards the stairs. The others followed, Harry’s Death Eaters pushing him roughly forward. Looking back at Neville Harry saw him moving weakly on the floor. Harry began to struggle, fighting fruitlessly against his captors as they forced him up each stone step. When they reached the top of the benches Harry found he was facing Malfoy once more, his cold eyes appraising Harry’s own.

“You know, Potter, if you desire we can always visit your friends before we leave.” Harry felt his heart plummet. The threat was clear. Behave or your friends will die. He was already responsible for their current condition; he would not be the reason for their deaths too. He broke eye contact and looked away from Malfoy. “Good Boy” Turning his back they continued to move through the Department of Mysteries. When they reached the circular room with the doors Harry felt a small dose of hope. If they had to search for the door... almost instantly his hopes fled as Bellatrix crossed the room purposefully and opened the door leading directly to the lifts.

They moved quickly down the hallway Dolohov pressing the button to call the lifts. Not being able to fit eleven people in one lift they pushed Harry in one with Five Death Eaters including Malfoy, Bellatrix, and the two holding Harry tightly. When the lift doors opened they proceeded across the Atrium with the five Death Eaters from the other lift falling in behind. Harry looked around thinking desperately of how he could escape. Harry began to struggle again as they neared the point where the anti-apparition wards ended. His Death Eaters just gripped him tighter and continued on.

Just before they reached the end of the Atrium there was a roar and a flash of green from the fire places across the room.

The Death Eaters turned as five people stepped out of the fire. Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley, and Moody all froze. Looking directly at Sirius Harry felt the guilt wash over him as Sirius’s face paled and his eyes widen in fear. He was here because of Harry’s stupidity, if he were caught… He began to struggle more forcefully against the death eaters holding him trying desperately to break free, but stopped when he felt the tip of a wand pressing into the side of his throat.

Sirius’s wand came up and pointed directly at Malfoy, “Release my Godson!” four more wands were raised and pointed a various Death Eaters. Lupin’s wand was directed towards the Death Eater with his wand at Harry’s throat, while Tonks’s was directed at Bellatrix.

“Potter has an appointment with the Dark Lord” Malfoy sneered raising his own. Without taking his eyes off Sirius Malfoy nodded towards the two holding Harry. They began to move back towards the apparition line dragging Harry with them as he fought for release. A jet of white light burst from Sirius’s wand towards Harry, but Malfoy blocked it with a spell of his own. The effect was like a setting off a fuse. Jets of light flew everywhere as duelers broke apart.

Sirius started directly for Harry where he was being pulled back across the apparition line, but was headed off by Malfoy who stepped between them with a cruel smile on his face. “You’re never there for him. Are you Black?” Malfoy drawled, shooting a spell of deep purple that passed just over Sirius’s head. Fighting with everything he had Harry tried to shout for Sirius, it came out as nothing but a strangled cry against his gag. Harry saw Malfoy flying backward and Sirius’s horrified face as he moved towards them. He still felt the hands of the two death eaters as they succeeded in pulling him across the apparition line. Reaffirming their grip on him they turned sharply and Harry felt blackness compress on him from all sides.

***  


“You’re never there for him. Are you Black?” Malfoy drawled, shooting a spell of deep purple that Sirius ducked feeling it pass right over his head. Over Malfoy’s shoulder Harry was fighting his captor’s hold as they dragged him back; strangled shouts he could just barely hear. Anger flashed in his eyes as he realized that they had gauged him. “Impedimenta” Sirius Shouted blasting Malfoy on his back and running towards Harry, fear gripping his insides. Rookwood and Avery gave one more pull and Sirius knew they were over the line.

He was too late; he raised his wand and shot off a stunner, and a second, watching in horror as Rookwood and Avery disapparated from the hall with Harry. He screamed in rage and turned on Malfoy who had just regained his feet. “WHERE…..” Malfoy shot a jet of orange light towards Sirius who blocked it. Sirius dueled with a cold fury in his face determined that he would make this man pay. He would make him tell him where Harry had been taken.

***  


Lupin was dueling with two Death Eaters while watching Harry out of the corner of his eye. He recognized Avery and Rookwood as they were pulling him back; making their way to the line that would allow them to apparate out of the ministry. He dodged a green jet of light and deflected a yellow.” “STUPEFY” he shouted knocking one of them off their feet and into the wall behind him.

The second Death Eater took the opportunity to shoot his own stunner a Lupin who deflected it. “Gelesco” shouted Lupin and with the Death Eater’s feet stuck fast to the ground he said “Expelliarmus”, and his opponent’s wand went flying out of his hand. Suddenly there was an all too familiar scream of rage and pain. Turning desperately Lupin saw Sirius advancing on Malfoy. “WHERE…” Sirius said the rage evident in his voice. Lupin felt his heart drop looking desperately for Harry who was nowhere to be seen. Panic welled up inside him. He looked around him and saw Moody in deep with two Death Eaters one he knew was Rodolphus Lestrange the other Mulciber. Kingsley was dueling with Macnair and another Death Eater Lupin believed was Rabastan Lestrange. Tonks was battling with Bellatrix.

He looked back to Sirius and Malfoy who were in an intense duel, Sirius clearly in a temper and that worried Lupin. He started forward and heard Malfoy taunting Sirius. “The Dark Lord will be more than satisfied with his house guest, and I am sure when the Aurors arrive they will be happy to see you.” Sirius sent a blasting curse towards Malfoy who lost his smile as he avoided the spell and shot back one of his own. “Then there are those we left in the Department of Mysteries.”

Lupin felt his breath catch, he had completely forgotten about Ron, Hermione, and the others. How badly were they hurt that these Death Eaters could just walk out with Harry? The was a loud bang and Lupin turned in time to see Tonks fall as Bellatrix stood over her with a manic gleam in her eyes. She stepped over Tonks and toward where Malfoy and Sirius continued their duel oblivious to what was happening around then. Lupin ran to Sirius and deflected a Cruciatus Bellatrix aimed at his back. Bellatrix sneered “Werewolf, this is a family matter” and with a wave of her wand she sent him flying across the atrium where his head slammed to the ground.

***  
Sirius saw Remus flying across the atrium and slam into the ground. He watched as Remus stirred trying to regain his senses. He turned to Bella and saw the spark in her eyes that spoke to her insanity.He held his wand before him not willing to give an inch to either Malfoy or Bella. Bellatrix cackled with anticipation. “Who knew that tonight would give us the wee baby Potter and you dear cousin.”

Sirius laughed with no amusement “You really think you can take me Bella?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy beginning to back away.

“Oh yes, but I don’t think I will.” She said with that manic smile “You see we have what we came for, the prophecy and the Potter Brat, and it will be far more enjoyable to watch your pain as you lose your precious Godson.” She laughed again and sent a jet of red light at him. He blocked it and muttered “Tarantallegra” with his wand pointed at Malfoy who, though surprised, dodged and returned with a counter. Bellatrix took aim and said “Crucio”. Sirius dove out of the line of fire and the two spells rebounded off of each other and shot back towards Bellatrix and Malfoy who were forced to duck their own spells.

Suddenly there was shouting from the other side of the room and Death Eaters were running across the Atrium and towards the apparition line. They didn’t get far. Sirius watched as several of the Death Eaters were pulled back or simply frozen mid run. Looking back down the Atrium he saw why. Dumbledore stood there his wand raised, fury in his face. Sirius felt relief, but also an intense anger for the man standing at the other end of the room. Looking around he saw both Bella and Malfoy sprinting for the line and shot several spells meant to stop them from his position on the floor. They deflected a few and dodged others, making it across the line they turned and disapparated on the spot.


	2. Behind Closed Doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter I am Just playing in J.K Rollings Castle.

Sirius stared at the space where Bella and Malfoy disapparated. Anger slowly giving way to panic, worry, and guilt as the memory of Harry being pulled away filled his mind. He failed Harry again, failed to keep him safe. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked to see Remus kneeling next to him, looking him hard in the eye.

“It’s not your fault Sirius. You did everything you could” he said this softly, with deep concern for the man before him. He knew his friend would immediately blame himself for Harry being taken. He needed to be reminded that this was not his doing.Sirius just stared back at Remus, not believing what he said. He was Harry’s Godfather and he had allowed him to be taken by Voldemort again. He felt as is his world had shattered. He felt wetness of his cheeks. He hadn’t even noticed that his eyes had filled with tears.

“We will get Harry back, Sirius. He will come home.” Remus said this, and Sirius merely nodded not sure he believed him. Sirius got shakily to his feet then suddenly remembered, “Hermione, Ron, Ginny…Malfoy said they were left in the Department of Mysteries…” Remus cut him off, “Kingsley and Moody have gone down to search for them”.

Sirius nodded and looked around. Dumbledore was standing over Tonks, having magically bound the remaining Death Eaters in a circle, and was trying to ascertain what had happened. Sirius felt his anger rise again. He had forgotten that Bella had been dueling with Tonks before joining his and Malfoy’s duel. He walked over to the pair and looked down at the motionless form of Tonks with her spikey pink hair soaked in blood.

“What did she do?” He asked in a hard voice.

Dumbledore turned to look at Sirius “A blasting curse caused debris from the wall behind Nymphadora to cut deeply into her skull. She is in no immediate danger, though she will need to spend time in St. Mungo’s for a healer to address the swelling in her brain. I am not proficient in the brain healing spells, and do not wish to cause more damage by trying.”

He slowly stood up and looked seriously at Sirius. “The Aurors will be here soon. You need to return to Grimmauld Place –. “ Sirius cut him off as his anger reared again “If you think I am just going to return to headquarters again when Harry –“ Dumbledore held up his hand for Sirius to stop speaking.

“Remember Sirius,” he said calmly “you are still a wanted man. Should you be here when the Aurors arrive they will immediately arrest you, believing you involved with the Death Eaters here tonight. You will not be able to help Harry if they return you to Azkaban or worse if you are kissed.” Sirius opened his mouth to argue but found he couldn’t. He wanted nothing more than to find Harry and he could not do that from a jail cell.

He looked at Dumbledore asked “How long?”

“I will summon the order and we shall meet in an hour” he responded heavily. Sirius nodded and turned, moving to the apparition line, where upon reaching it he turned on the spot and disapparated. Remus had remained quiet during this exchange and stared after his friend; concern creasing his brow. 

“I think it may be best for you to go with him Remus.” Lupin looked around appraising Dumbledore. “There is no direct need for you here. I will speak with the minister and send the others onto Hogwarts. Kingsley and Alastor will help with that, and then we will all convene at Grimmauld place for the meeting. Lupin nodded briefly then followed after his friend apparating directly to the front step of Grimmauld place

XXX 

When the crushing blackness was lifted Harry felt himself thrown harshly to the ground. His head bounced off the floor and he groaned as he saw stars. The two Death Eaters merely laughed and after his vision cleared he was able to see the two who had forced him through the ministry. He recognized the pot marked Rookwood and Avery from the prophet. He tried to pull himself to his knees but was pushed back down with a wave of Avery’s wand. Rookwood then waived his own wand and Harry found his ankles bound together.

Testing the bonds, he found they were tight and he would not be able to break them. He lifted his head slightly looking around hoping to glean a clue as to where he was. There were no windows and the room was dark. He could feel a smooth wood beneath him and make out what he thought were shapes of the furniture in the room. So he wasn’t in a dungeon…yet.

He heard the low voices of the men as they conversed behind him, then without warning one of them said “Crucio”. Once again he felt the pain of burning metal burrowing through his skin and into his bones. He thrashed against his bonds unable to stop himself, but fought his scream not wanting to give them the satisfaction. After ten seconds, which felt much longer to Harry, the curse was lifted. The two Death Eaters laughed again and continued their quiet discussion.

Harry lay there his body trembling from this second Cruciatus and wondered how many more he was going to be subjected to. He decided it was better not to think about what was in store for him, but then his mind wondered to the events of the evening. This was just as bad. Due to his own stupidity, and as Hermione had aptly put it his “saving people thing”, he had lead his friends into a trap. He had no idea what state the others were in and remembering the last time he saw them, unconscious or in pain, the guilt spread further through his system.

Then there was Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Moody, and Kingsley. They had been out number and if they died because of - his scar suddenly burst open in white hot pain. He closed his eyes and could not stop the muffled scream. His body curled in on itself as he turned into hardwood floor willing the pain to stop. 

After what seemed like an age the pain began to lessen, but did not dissipate. He heard a cold chuckle behind him. “Hello Harry,” said the voice to match “I appreciate you stopping by”. Voldemort roughly kicked Harry onto his back where he looked down on his prey with a vicious smile. Harry looked upon into those red eyes with refusing to show his fear at being back at Voldemort’s mercy. 

Voldemort looked away from Harry and directed his gaze at the two Death Eaters in the room. “Well? Where are the others? Where is Bellatrix, Lucius? Don’t tell me they were held up by teenagers.” He said this with venom in his voice. Not able see why all of his Death Eaters had not yet returned.

Rookwood and Avery stepped forward and knelt to the floor. Rookwood spoke “No my Lord, as we were nearing the apparition point members of the Order arrived and engaged them in battle. We were retaining Potter so Lucius sent us on.”

“And the Prophecy?” Voldemort’s voice was so cold and low Harry felt shivers down his spin.

Rookwood was visible trembling, “Lucius has – “the rest of his sentence was cut off with an agonizing scream a Voldemort held his wand on Rookwood with no mercy.

“You mean to tell me, you left without making sure the prophecy was in safe hands?” Harry closed his eyes as the pain in his scar began to build with Voldemort’s rising anger. It felt as though a white hot knife was carving into his head.

“No…no my Lord. Lucius is sure to return with it any moment now.”

“For your own sake you best hope that he returns with it in hand. Now leave my presence and alert me when Lucius arrives.” “Yes my Lord, of course” said Avery as the two men stood and, bowing low left the room. The door closed behind them with a clanking finality.

XXX 

Voldemort stared at the door for a moment anger broiling through his system at the incompetence of his Death Eaters, then turned his crimson eyes to Harry. The boy was lying on his back with his eyes closed. His face looked set as though he was fighting some internal pain. Strange, he thought, he has had this reaction before. Close proximity causes him pain. Voldemort smirked cruelly. He moved closer to the boy and was pleased as the boy groaned against his gag. He waived his wand removing it. He wanted to relish in the boy’s pain. As he kneeled by the boy he saw the minute changes that showed Harry’s discomfort increase. His face grimaced in pain and his body turned on his side as he tried to press his head again into the floor. Voldemort chuckled.

“Look at me Harry.” Harry clenched his jaw and grimaced. This pain had reached a ferocity that rivaled the night in the grave yard a year ago. He could feel the combination of anger and pleasure coming from Voldemort; he could also feel his proximity. He felt wood press against his check and he tried to turn his head to press his scar against the coolness. Suddenly the pain in his scar shot past all previous points as a hand grabbed his chin and forced his head up and away from the slight relief. He screamed, not able to fight it, and his eyes snapped open. Crimson eyes stared directly into his and he screamed again as a new wave of pain coursed through his scar. His eyes closed again trying to block the pain.

“Look at me” Voldemort’s voice was as cold as ice and Harry was unable to suppress the fear that began to build at the words. He opened his eyes.

Crimson Eyes locked with green as Voldemort held his gaze. His scar was still pulsing but he held back his groan not wanting to give Voldemort any more satisfaction. Then there was a pull in his mind and Harry felt the force of Voldemort’s assault. It was worse than any lesson Harry had endured with Snape. He felt Voldemort shift through his memories pushing aside the ones he did not want, then Harry saw the memory of the Thestrals come to the fore front of his mind and felt as Voldemort latched on.

The events of the night passed in front of Harry’s mind and he felt a wave of guilt and pain was through him at the last memory of his friends in the Department of Mysteries. When Sirius’s face flashed across his memory his guilt intensified. He felt Voldemort release his chin and the pain lessened as he left his mind.

Harry shook his head to clear it as Voldemort stood and moved away. There was a smirk pulling at his lips as he strode across the room. He waved his wand and a fire bloomed in the grate illuminating the room. Ignoring the pulsing pain, as best he could, Harry glance around what appeared to be Voldemort’s Study. The walls were of deep green stone, the floor of dark wood. Book cases with large leather tombs lined the walls, and there was a table which appeared to have parchment strewn across it.

Voldemort stood behind a dark wood desk his back to the room, looking into the depths of the fire. Harry could feel Voldemort’s anger rise steadily as time passed. He shifted on the floor fighting back the fear by being trapped in a room with an especially angry dark lord, who wanted to torture and kill you, brings.

Time passed slowly, and he tried taking deep calming breaths, knowing that he needed to suppress the pain and control his fear to think clearly. His head still throbbed with pain from his scar and the invasion of his mind, his body shook from the crucios he had taken. He felt slightly nauseous and was having to focus very hard not to get sick. There was a sudden knock on the door and Lucius Malfoy entered followed closely by Bellatrix Lestrange. Bellatrix looked at Harry’s bound form on the floor and let out a cackle while Malfoy simply sneered and moved across to Voldemort.

“My Lord” Malfoy bowed low and pulled from within his robes a small spun glass sphere which was alive with a blue glow. Voldemort turned and looked at Lucius, his snakelike feature thrown in sharp contrast by the light behind him, his eyes burning lamplights in the dark; he slowly reached out his hand and took the sphere from Malfoy.

Voldemort examined the prophecy and moved over to the desk “You have done well Lucius, and you Bellatrix. Tell me what happened after young Mr. Potter here left the ministry.”

“Five member of the order arrived just as we were about to depart the atrium my lord….” Lucius began but Voldemort cut him off. “Show me” Lucius bowed and looked directly into his lord’s eyes. Harry watched Voldemort delve into Malfoy’s mind. Five minutes passed and sweat began to form on Malfoy’s brow. Suddenly Voldemort’s eyes narrowed and he hissed “Dumbledore” while breaking eye contact with Lucius.

“And the other’s?” he asked in an emotionless voice.

Malfoy hesitated “Apart from Bella and myself, only Avery and Rookwood, who brought back Mr. Potter, have returned.” Voldemort’s eyes flashed a brighter crimson at the news and Harry’s scar throbbed with his anger. He bit his tongue to keep himself silent. He was not sure how much more of Voldemort’s anger he could take.

Voldemort glared at Lucius and turn back to the fire. He was not happy with how the evening turned out. He had meant it to be a silent operation, for his Death Eaters to wait for Potter to retrieve the prophecy then bring both the boy and the prophecy here but of course, when involving Potter, nothing could be that simple. The boy couldn’t come alone; his friends had to come along, then the Order. The Order! He knew Severus would have to inform the order. Dumbledore would have been suspicious if he did not, but he had been very careful with the information Severus received and when. It had been expected that he would deduce when the plan went into effect and what was entailed, he was an intelligent man, but he was told that at that point he should not inform the Order until he had no choice. He would need to speak with Severus, learn what he had done once he had discovered the plan. He turned to face Malfoy.

“You two may go, but do not go far.”

“And the boy?” Malfoy asked this looking over to where Potter was bound on the floor.

Voldemort also looked to the boy, a cruel smile on his lips. “He will stay with me for now.” He was pleased when Harry glared at him in return. Although the boy looked to be weak, he was clearly still had some fight and a streak of defiance in him, also he wanted to find out if a certain theory of his was true.

XXX 

Remus stepped inside 12 Grimmauld Place and was immediately assaulted by the sound of Sirius’s Mother screaming “Blood traitor! Filth! Release him, he is better and worth more to the noble House of Black!” Remus ran down the hall past the raging woman and down to the kitchen where he could hear even more shouts that rivaled those of the old portrait.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs Remus found Bill Weasley and Emmeline Vance standing behind Sirius trying to calm him down as he held Kreacher to the wall by his throat. Mundungus was in the corner cowering from the obviously volatile Sirius.

“…WRETCHED LITTLE PIECE OF FILTH! WHY SHOULD I NOT KILL YOU NOW! HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN FEEDING BELLATRIX INFORMATION?”

“Sirius we need him for information about what happened…..” Bill said.

“NEED HIM! HA! HE KNOWS NOTHING! ALL HE IS GOOD FOR IS HIS LIES!

“But he knew of the plan for Harry.” Emmeline Vance argued. 

“ALL HE KNEW WAS TO KEEP ME OUT OF THE WAY WHEN HARRY CALLED!” Kreacher’s face was slowly turning an unpleasant blue color. 

“Sirius,” Lupin said sharply “what is going on?”

“This little piece of shit,” the anger and hate were clear in his voice “when I walked in I heard him. Gleeful. Talking under his breath about how Harry must be in Voldemort’s hands, about how easy it was to…” his voice faltered and his grip slacked briefly allowing Kreacher air before his anger returned and he squeezed again, “to tell Harry I was gone.”

Remus understood instantly. He moved forward and put his hand on Sirius’s shoulder to calm his friend. “Kreacher went to Bellatrix didn’t he?” he said softly. Sirius turned his head slightly and Remus saw the tears on his face. “If he went to Bellatrix, then he can give us some information, he has to answer any question you ask.” Sirius looked back at Kreacher with a hard look. “We need to know how tonight was possible, what lead to Harry going to the Department of Mysteries. We need all of the pieces Sirius… to get him back.” He gave his friend’s shoulder a squeeze. Sirius’s grip slackened and Kreacher fell to the ground.

“I’m not sure who he went to. He knew about tonight so he was taking orders from someone.”

“Then we must ask him…without causing his trachea to collapse.”

Kreacher was coughing his body trembling as he slowly tried to pull himself to his feet. “Filthy blood traitor,” he rasped “ungrateful brat, Kreacher’s mistress was always ashamed, yes. Kreacher would much rather be with a proper master.”

“And who would that be Kreacher?” Remus asked crisply.

Kreacher eyed Remus with anger “The werewolf thinks to question Kreacher. Kreacher won’t answer, no, Kreacher doesn’t have to.” Kreacher looked as he almost wheezed, “Kreacher will keep his secrets, yes he will.”

“But not from me.” Sirius said loudly. Kreacher turned to Sirius hate in his eyes, knowing that when Sirius asked he would have to tell. “So tell me Kreacher, who gave you the order to keep me busy and out of the way?” Sirius stared hard at Kreacher clearly holding himself back from chocking him again and Kreacher stared right back jaw clenched, face straining as he tried to keep his mouth shut. “Now Kreacher,” Sirius snapped “answer me.”

“Mistress and Master Malfoy.” Kreacher said his voice low.

Sirius’s fists clenched, knuckles whitening in his anger “And how long ago was this?” He asked through a clenched jaw.

“Kreacher was told days ago.” Kreacher answered crossly.

Remus looked at Sirius. “This plan was not conceived days ago, this took time and preparation. He lured Harry there after the ministry closed, our guard was taken out. Where was the ministry guard? And he used you as bait, making sure he couldn’t contact you first. Which means…”

“Which means he knew Harry would do anything to save me,” Sirius said this with a look of such despair Remus felt his heart break, for the pain his friend must be feeling, but more for Harry. Remus and Sirius held each other’s gaze, both feeling the pain of having failed Harry, having failed to keep safe the son of their best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently I have four of these chapters written and I am working on the fifth. I have already posted some of this on Fanfiction.net, and unfortunately I am not able to update as frequently as I would like. This is due to full time work and school. I will be doing about one post a week and until I run out of chapters to do so. However I am hoping this will bot happen and I will be able to maintain the one chapter a week. Feedback would always be appreciated so please tell me what you like or do not like about this work. It is my first HP story, so I will defiantly be learning as I go.


	3. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so very Much to those of you reading my fiction. I really appreciate the feedback. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter I am simply playing in J.K. Rowling’s Castle

The door clicked closed behind Lucius and Bella, Voldemort moved over to the desk placing the sphere on its surface and waiving his wand so that it would not roll. It would not due, after so much effort, for the prophecy to smash.

Turning back around, he gave Potter a hard look. He was intrigued, according to Lucius’s memory, and what he had learned in Potter’s mind, the boy had no knowledge that the prophecy even existed…until he had picked it up I the Department of Mysteries. “Tell me Harry, what do you know of Prophecies?”

Harry simply glared at him with that amusing defiance, as if he thought he had any choice in this matter. “Come Harry, there are only two options in this case. I can find the answers quiet easily by tearing through you mind, or you can keep your sanity and have a civilized conversation.” he inwardly smirked as the boy’s eyes flashed.

“Your idea of civilized is seriously skewed.” he said under his breath. Voldemort chuckled, he had to hand it to the child even with his hopeless situation he did his utmost not to show his fear, commendable, though Voldemort knew the fear was there. It was a refreshing change to his normally shaking and groveling Death Eaters. Still he had appearances to keep and he did so enjoy it when Potter was unable to maintain his… charisma.

“ _Crucio_ ” he nearly hissed. Voldemort watched in abstract pleasure as the boy writhed at his feet, a scream escaping through his lips after a moment, and after nearly a minute he lifted his wand. “Manners Potter”, he said dryly while Summoning a chair.

The boy was breathing heavily from his place on the floor. Fighting the tremors that were trying to rack his body as he lay in the floor. He waived his wand lazily releasing the boy from his binds. Unconcerned because the boy would not be able to leave this room, much less the manner. He watched as Potter shifted enough to support himself with his right hand. Pleased by the pain radiating form the boy, but also becoming agitated at his apparent slowness.

“Harry, my patience wanes.” He warned.

XXX

They House was Silent except for the screeching of the portrait in the hall. Sirius and Remus continued to look at each other, the anguish between the two palpable. Kreacher was still standing with his back against the wall, not daring to move and silent for once. Bill and Vance had moved away too now that Sirius no longer held Kreacher by the throat. Mundungus still in the corner hoping to avoid the rage of Sirius Black.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as order members began to file into the room. Many of then looked confused, not yet aware of the circumstances that surrounded the evening, others seemed horrified and did their best not to look over at the two men. Noticeably absent were Molly Weasley, who must have rushed to her children, and Severus Snape, who could have been at the school or with Voldemort. Sirius assumed the later.

Arthur Weasley was one of the last into the room and he made directly for Sirius and Lupin, concern etched on his face. “Sirius, Remus,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion “what happened tonight, where is Harry?” Sirius couldn’t answer; he felt at a loss and looked to the floor. His stomach was a burning bowl of guilt and anger. He should have seen the signs, Kreacher had been acting odd for a while now. There had been less muttering and he had taken orders more willingly than before. He had just brushed it off as unimportant, secure in his belief that the elf was not able to leave the house.

“We are unsure of what exactly happened.” Remus started after it was clear Sirius was unable to formulate an answer. “All we know is that Voldemort-” many flinched at the name “somehow lured Harry and the others to the ministry”. He stopped there and Sirius knew he was feeling guilty they did not know what had happened to Arthur’s children. “When we arrived in the Atrium they had Harry. “They…” Remus’s voice had begun to shake “they…”. Sirius’s eyed moved back to the face of his oldest friend. He could see Remus’s own guilt collecting in his eyes. Guilt he was sure the man felt for being unable to stop them from taking Harry. Guilt he felt in equal measure.

“They had him bound and at wand point, after the fight two of the Death Eaters forced him across the apparition line and side along apparate him out.” Sirius said this blatant and quick as he could. He knew that would be the only way he could get it all out. The room had gone quite while he spoke. His voice clear as it carried; heads turned in their direction, the order members clearly unsettled by what they had heard. Sirius avoided looking in the order member’s direction. He didn’t want to see the looks of concern and sympathy he was sure would be directed towards him and Remus.

Arthur’s face showed that he wasn’t completely surprised by this fact. His eyes clouded with worry. Worry that Sirius knew to be for his children and for Harry.

“Where is Molly?” Remus asked the man.

“She is still at the school, with the children. We received message from Fawkes asking us to come to the school as soon as possible. “Ron, Ginny and the others were still unconscious when we got there. Dumbledore was waiting a little while longer in the hopes that one of them would wake up and he could ask them what happened. Molly refuses to leave until she is sure Ron and Ginny are okay.”

Suddenly the fire place burst into flames and two men stepped through. Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape stepped into the room, each brushing ash from their cloaks of rich plum and deepest black. Dumbledore scanned the room, his face grave with deep creases along his brow. The sight of Snivillus walking boldly into the kitchen was the spark reigniting his anger. His teeth ground and his hands clenched as he fought the urge to wrap them around the man’s throat. He was sure the man had known what was happening and deliberately waited to tell the order. He was as guilty as Kreacher. He felt Remus move at his side, whether to stop him from rushing the man, or resisting the urge himself, Sirius wasn’t so sure.

Gesturing for everyone to sit down Dumbledore began “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. As all of you may not be aware that there was an incident this evening at the ministry, specifically in the Department of Mysteries.” This statement was met with silence as everyone in the room understood exactly what the man meant. Dumbledore gave a tired sigh “Miss Weasley and Mr. Longbottom are the only ones currently conscious. From the information they have given it seems that Mr. Potter had fallen asleep during his History OWL.” He stopped here and glanced at Sirius, in the far corner, who was sure that he would not like what the man was about to tell them.

“It seems that Voldemort used the connection he shares with Harry to his advantage. He implanted, in Harry’s mind, a scene that would cause Harry personal torment. He wanted Harry to believe it to be necessary for him to go to the Department of Mysteries this evening.”

“What did he use?” came a Jones’s voice from across the room.

Again Sirius saw Dumbledore’s eyes flash towards him but he was not sure anyone else did. “It was no what but who. He implanted the image of someone important to Harry being tortured in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius understood immediately what Dumbledore wasn’t saying and the bubbling guilt in his stomach intensified. He ignored the whispers that raced across the room at this statement and ignored the eyes that shifted towards him from those who were close enough to see the truth. He felt Remus grab his arm and squeeze it gently trying to silently reassure him.

Pushing back the growing guilt and grabbing at his anger he said loudly, bitingly, “And how did we learn this information? Snivellus? How is it that you were only able to tell us when we were too late? When did you learn of your master’s plots; and how convenient is it that, only now, you are able to tell us of how he lured Harry in?”

“Sirius,” Dumbledore intervened quickly “I want you to remember that Severus was not involved in the events of this evening. He was in no way able to predict what occurred this evening any more than I would have been.”

“No Albus,” Sirius said coldly “You can’t tell me that he didn’t know what was happening tonight.”

Before Dumbledore could respond Snape said “I was unaware of the exact nature of tonight’s events”.

“What do you mean Severus?” Dumbledore asked surprised.

“I had been informed that…something had been planned but I was not given any specifics on what was to occur.”

“Why did you not say anything?” Dumbledore's solemn voice carried lowly across room.

“I was forbidden, unable, to speak a word of it, nor was I given any information other than to not be surprised if a student were to come to me in distress. I was not even informed on or when it would occur until early this afternoon, nor was I told that Potter would be involved.”

“How convenient,” Sirius sneered “and how long had you waited to say anything after Harry came to you.”

“As I told you earlier tonight Black, Potter did not come to me. He, in his Gryffindor rashness, went straight to Umbridge’s office where he proceeded to get himself caught using her floo.” He paused “I believe he was attempting to floo call this house.” Sirius flinched at the thinly veiled accusation. “As it stood, when Potter first spouted his words at me, he was still being held in Umbridge’s office. And regarding your accusation of how I know the Dark Lord’s methods, Potter’s utter incompetency in learning Occlumecy speaks for both my knowledge of the lure and the events that followed. I assumed, before Potter would do anything ridiculously Gryffindor, I would be able to find him and could inform him that you were not being held by the Dark Lord. Apparently I was incorrect.”

“Yes, you were!”

“Yes,” Snape replied, his lip curling “as you know after discovering that he had gone into the forest with Umbridge I contacted you as soon as I was able.”

Sirius snorted at that “And how long was that?”

“You know as well as I Black that I could not have simply left Draco and the others in that women’s office as they were. No I had to use precious time waiting for Poppy to arrive, to treat the injuries cause by Potter’s friends, before I could contact headquarters or look for the boy. I was not about to waste any more time going into the details with you on the exact events.”

“Sirius,” Dumbledore spoke as Sirius opened his mouth in a furious retort “This is getting no closer to helping Harry. We are going to need Severus’s help if we are to find and rescue him.”

Sirius ground his teeth in his anger. He still did not trust Snivellus hadn’t been told anything. Much less that he couldn’t have contacted the order sooner, he could have sent a Patronous as he waited for Pomphrey. For the moment though he would listen, they needed to find Harry.

XXX

Harry stared from his place in the floor. Feeling the red stare boring into his own and uncomfortable in his overwhelming vulnerability. His body ached and he could barely prop himself upright yet he stayed where he was as Voldemort would surely strike him down the moment he made to adjust or ease his current position. He heard almost through a tunnel Voldemort ask “for the last time” about prophecies and his mind shot back to that afternoon in his third year. In Trelawney’s heated attic, and seeing those empty eyes, and hearing that course voice state the return of the man in front of him.

Voldemort seemed to pick up his thoughts and smirked, “So you have witnessed a prophecy being delivered, convenient in that we need not go into that longwinded explanation. However, I shall be more specific, what do you know of a Prophecy given sixteen years ago outlining your fate?”

Harry stared at the monster in front of him. Lost, confused. _Why would a prophecy be made about him, much less why would Voldemort be seeking it for the better part of the year?_ He felt another tremor shoot through his body, courtesy of the Crucios and could not stop the visible twitch of his wand arm in reflex. The movement caught Voldemort’s eyes as he had been using the arm for support and nearly collapsed against the floor as a result. He chuckled lightly and said “Keagan”, with a soft pop a house elf appeared, surprising Harry in the unusual name for the house elf.

“Yes Masters sir?” said the creature with a slight voice.

“Bring me a potion for the Cruciatus.” He said not evening looking towards the elf. There was another couple of pops as the elf left and returned, a vial with black liquid in its hand. Harry Swallowed hard he knew Voldemort was proficient in the curse so why the liquid version. He was trembling enough thank you very much, he did not need any more jolts, inside or out. “Look I have no clue about any prophecy from sixteen years ago. Crucioing my insides is not going to change that.” He said through gritted teeth, hating his own weakness.

Voldemort looked at him blankly. “I assure you Potter I have no interest in... _Crucioing your insides_ ,” Voldemort neared hissed this with seeming relish as if the idea was a particular pleasant one for him, “as you put it. At least not at the current time, however I do thank you for introducing the idea for later investigation.” He said with a smirk making Harry cringe. “No, this potion will relieve the pain and reduce the current trembling that is racking your body so violently that you are unable keep a consistent train of thought.

Harry Started at him in disbelief. “You expect me to believe that that potion is going to help? Seriously? Have you lost what little sense you seemed to have picked up?” Immediately Harry realized how stupid of a statement that was and in a second more he was back on his back rolling from the combined pain of Voldemort’s Crucio and anger coursing through his head. Harry screamed, no longer able to even attempt to stifle them. He wasn’t sure which was worse the thousand scalding needles or the single internal blade.

XXX

Voldemort released the curse, pleased in the tangible pain rolling off the boy. Anger still licking his insides at Potter’s comment on his mental capacity, which was more intact than the boy realized, and his straying from the topic. While he enjoyed the view before him, he was genuinely curious about the boy’s knowledge, or seemingly lack thereof, on the matter at hand. He could also return to needling the boy afterwards but the longer he took here the longer it was until he would listen to the prophecy and his patience was low, being staunched solely by the boy in pain before him. He smiled maybe he would keep the boy for a while. For stress relief.

“Now Harry, while I am perfectly content at seeing you rolling around under my wand I do require an answer.” He said silkily. He watched as the boy took deep panting breaths, facedown, he had pulled himself into a crouched position, chest to his knees and his head resting on the floor. “You are obviously in enough pain that your mental faculties are struggling to maintain a fluid stream for an intelligent conversation, and while we have an unending amount of time before us I would rather finish this conversation without the constant lack in focus.” He stood up and walked over to the figure crouching before him. Reaching down he gripped the boy’s face tightly and yanked upwards with a harsh twist. Harry’s feature twisted as he groaned in pain. “So, Harry, you can either take this potion of your own volition” he said holding the black vial up before wide green eyes, “or I can bind you in your place and pour it down your throat as a parent would an unruly child.”

He saw the boy swallow and close his eyes in attempt to block out the pain and humiliation Voldemort could feel across their shared link. Another curiosity he mused silently. He would keep the boy, if only to discover the reason behind their connection, and his own amusement of course. Having Harry before him like this was of great enjoyment to him at present.

XXX

Harry was taking deep breaths, knowing Voldemort would follow through on his threat of pouring it down his throat. He tried to ignore where the pain was building from prolonged contact with Voldemort. He knew the man was holding his chin simply to increase the pain he felt thus making him more amenable to his wishes. He ripped his face free and glared up at the thing before him before slowly pushing back from his knees, as he would not kneel before him, and shakily pushing himself to his feet. Somewhere finding the reserves to stand if only for a brief moment. He took the offered potion sniffing experimentally at the contents, wishing he had half of Snape’s skill in potions and wondering whether the effects would bring him back down to the floor in pain.

Knowing there was really no option available to him he downed the potion in one go hoping that the pain would be mild in comparison to what he already felt. He dropped the vial and nearly feel over again as the tremors slowed and the pain drained from his body like water draining from the tub. It continued, taking what little strength his body held and making it impossible for him to hold his own weight in a standing position. Suddenly hands were at his side and he was maneuvered to the couch, unable to put up any resistance as he could only just lift his arm. “What…” he started to say but Voldemort cut him off.

“I said it would relieve the pain and reduce the trembling, the side effect is that in doing this it relaxes the muscles to the point that basic movement nearly unavailable to you.” He chuckled, “did you really think I would give you something that would give you back a modicum of strength, or that I would not disable you where you sat? The benefit is that while your ability towards physical movement is nonexistent, the pain has cleared from you mind and body allowing for intelligent conversation. It should last for six hours at most affording me the opportunity to adjust the wards of your new… room.” He continued with a smirk that chilled Harry’s blood. Exactly how long would it be before Voldemort decided to kill him? He was not sure he wanted an answer to that question.


	4. Prophecy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter I am Just playing in J.K Rollings Castle.
> 
> Sorry for being a Day late with this...I was at work from 9am till 11pm and forgot my thumb drive at home so no opportunity to upload. I only have this chapter and one more written out and have not been able to get the time to write more. I am hoping that I do not get to far behind. Please let me know what you think!

Harry’s head lulled against the couch he was placed on and he closed his eyes breathing deeply through his nose. He felt utterly relaxed and completely unrelaxed at the same time; the cool leather pressed against is back, arms uselessly limp at his side as his legs hung loosely over the edge. His feet barely reached the floor due the height of the seat. The potion was effective he would give the Voldemort that, however the relief from the pain was short lived when weighed against the fact that he was in an even more pathetic position than before.

Harry attempted at moving his arm, he could only just feel the movement of his shoulder joint as his hand barely lifted from the leather. He struggled for a moment straining to lift his hand higher, to simply hold it up, but the little strength he had failed him and his hand fell with a light plop. A soft chuckle reached his ears, reverberating inside his head, the sound seemingly much louder in the otherwise silent room. He pressed his eyes closed tighter hoping that this was another nightmare, another image Voldemort planted in his head, if he opened his eyes he would be back in Gryffindor dorms with light peeking through still curtains signaling morning.

Hearing the rustle of fabric and the padding of footsteps brought him back to the reality he was in. He felt the shift as Voldemort sat across from him. Opening his eyes, he shot the man a muted glare. It was the best he could muster as his facial muscled felt stiff and he could not lift his head for more than a couple of seconds. Voldemort was silent, he had moved his chair to sit directly across from Harry and was staring intently at him as if he were a puzzle for which the pieces did not fit.

“Tell me Harry,” he said softly, “where you truly unaware of the events that lead to that night in Gordric’s Hallow?” he asked this with an impassive look on his face but Harry noticed a spark in his eyes that spoke to his curiosity. It was strange to hear the man speak with such a controlled voice, without words of vitriol being spat at him from behind biting teeth.

  Harry continued his muted glare trying to understand the point of the question. Everyone knew of the night Voldemort came to his home. Harry himself had heard the events play in his head, curtsy of the dementors, and knew the man had killed his father first, then proceeded to kill his mother before turning the yew wand on him. A flash of poisonous green lite his mind. He struggled with his heavy jaw, words coming out slightly slurred, due to the potion, and lacking the venom he had intended “Yoou mean how you killeeed my fattther before muurderinnng my mother aand failing to kiiill me?”

Voldemort blinked slowly, seeming to consider him for a moment. “I am curious as to how you know the order in which your parents died, but we will revisit that later. My question, however, was inquiring as to if you knew the real reason behind my attack that evening.”

Harry could feel the anger growing in his body at the question, like pressure behind a cork and made all the worse due to his inability to move. “Is there… a reason? Other than your… mad… desire to… kill off the… _un-pure_?” He hated how weak he sounded in his effort to stop slurring; his attempted sarcasm falling flat. He wanted to say more but talking was costing his great effort at the moment. At least the pain left his head clear.

Voldemort ‘s smile appeared almost indulgent; his eyes seemed to simmer with amusement.

**XXX**

Voldemort internally smiled in glee. Oh, this was perfect. It seemed that the dear boy savior had no idea as to the true reason for his visit to his home that evening, much less that the intended target had not, in fact, been his parents but the boy himself. How little had the old fool told him? Had informed him of? The possibility was high that this supposed _hero_ (he internally sneered the word) had little to no understand of past events, and how they affected him personally was… well delicious. He would enjoy informing the boy of his role in the world and where he shall remain, well until he grew board of him that was.

There was another possibility to be considered in this situation. If the boy was so uniformed of his place in this war, was there the possibility that the old fool had decided against informing the light’s hero about the truth of the war and all it entails? Did he understand why the discrimination against muggle-born wizards and witches? That the old pureblood families were losing their traditions, his ancestors traditions, as the wizarding population grew and shrunk simultaneously? Did he even know what it meant to be a wizard beyond waiving his wand and saying a few choice words? Voldemort began to believe not. However, this was a thought line for another time as that particular conversation could become quite involved. He had precious hours before the potion would begin to wear off of the boy, and if that were to occur it would make moving him slightly more troublesome, however manageable. There was no possibility of the boy escaping and once he was moved he would not even be able to leave the room.

 A smile stretched his pale lips, unsurprisingly the boy paled slightly. He knew from his death eaters that his smile was seen as a mere parody of a true smile. Twisted and skewed in such a way that his most vaulted followers trembled when graced with it. All but Bella, who was insane in her own right and feared nothing but disappointing her master. She took a joy in his smile that even he could not comprehend.

“Dumbledore never informed his favorite pet then?” He said this slowly deciding to savor the effect his next words would have. He almost wished the potion was not as potent as it was, so that he could view the full impact of his words. Well he would just have to read it in the boy’s eyes and thoughts. “Did he never mention that one evening, in the winter before your birth, there was Prophecy rendered to him regarding a boy born at the end of July? One who, as he believes, would have the ability to defeat my own self.” He said this with a scoff, his anger not hidden in his words. He would not be defeated by a simple boy. A boy, by the looks of it, who was completely unaware of the underlying reasons behind his fight.

He watched as the words drifted across to the boy on the couch, observed as the impact of what he said seemed to reach his ears and slip into his head, his mind. _Interesting_ , he thought. He could feel how these words infected the boy hero. The child was already in a state of agitation, no doubt hating his own weakness, he had felt the pain, fear and the anger which had been present since his arrival and had been relishing in it. However, the rising emotions of pain, of guilt, hurt, and anger, of _distrust_ that seemed to be rushing to fill the slight boy in front of him made him curious. Was there more here beneath the surface?

Many believed the dark lord to be insane, and this was just the way he wanted things to be. It was a basic maneuver, but an effective one. When one deigns to believe that their opposition is compromised in some way they tend to underestimate their capabilities. He would not deny that he had slipped in his mental stability, slipped to the point that he went after a _baby_ without thorough considerations to the facts behind the situation. Chief among them was that he did not have the full contents of the prophecy and thus made a poor decision. This was why he had dedicated this year to retrieval of the prophecy, he needed full understanding of the situation in front of him before he made another ineffective attempt on the boy immobile in his study. Of course he had other pursuits to deal with as well, but the prophecy had remained in the foreground, and now he had it.

He glanced towards the table then back towards the boy. A wicked smile flashed across his face. “Well then let me be the one to inform you.” He watched as that lovely mixture of emotion began to slowly coat the boys features. They came slowly as paint may drip down a wall when wet, but it seemed he felt strongly enough to manipulate his features against the potion currently running thorough his body. A dip into his mind, an open book really, showed that the boy had been harboring a mistrust towards the headmaster for a while now, fueled by the own man’s absence in the boy’s life, the lack of communication or interaction, even the simple act of eye contact had been avoided. The seed had been there for a while, possibly since the previous summer. He smirked once more.

**XXX**

Harry sat there frozen not quite comprehending the word just spoken. “A Prophecy…” the hall of prophecy…the glass sphere, his eyes shot towards the offending sphere. The label in the Department of Mysteries read “The Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter”, Dumbledore never said a word; no one did. Sirius, Remus, the Weasley’s they all knew, they had to know, and they never said a word. That night, so many months ago in headquarters Sirius came close, there was something he had wanted to say but he stopped himself; he let Mrs. Weasley stop him… because he wasn’t old enough, mature enough...according to Dumbledore. Because _Dumbledore_ , he thought with a sneer, believed he shouldn’t be told. It all came back to Dumbledore. Closing his eyes, he felt his anger flare and began a mental count to calm himself.

Voldemort’s voice broke into his thoughts “That night, in Godric’s Hallow, I was not there for James Potter, nor was I there for Lily Potter. I was in Godric’s Hallow to eliminate a threat foretold in a Prophecy. _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who had thrice defied him born as the seventh month dies…_ the rest of the prophecy went unheard as my spy was detected and forcible removed from the establishment.”

Harry was not sure what he had expected, but it sure was not this, he never would have believed that Voldemort would give him the information that had been denied him. Information that should have been given to him by those he had trusted, those he saw as family.

“Tell me Harry Potter, what has that old man told you?” The man sounded almost curious, Harry opened his eyes to see him observing him speculatively. “Do you know the true reason behind this war. Do you know why you fight?” This question took Harry again by surprise.

“Blood Purity.” He said slowly, “The removal of muggle blood from the magical world, new blood.”

Voldemort laughed, not a light chuckle but full out laugh. “How little they have told of your own world, of your own war Harry. This war is more involved than simple blood purity. It is about traditions. Traditions and the pollution of the muggle beliefs and ideals into our world. Its about maintaining the ancient rights and practices that strengthen the magic around and inside us.” The man laughed again. “How uninformed you are Harry, how ignorant of your own histories.”

Harry felt the anger building again. He wished he could do more than lay here, he wished he could retaliate with more than slurred words. He gritted his teeth in frustration. What angered him more was that the man was right, not necessarily about the war, but about the fact the he was kept in the dark. He thought hard about what he knew of the war and all he could think was the eradication of muggle borns. Nothing beyond that though, and that is what pissed him off, Dumbledore the order keeping him in the dark. The fact that he learned more in one night from the man who had killed his parents. He was not so gullible as to believe every word the man said but something was telling him Voldemort was not being completely dishonest in his words. He took in a deep breath.

“The prophecy is also why you were having those nightly dreams. I could not go to retrieve it, but you were so kind as to do it for me. And now we will know the full prophecy and what it means.”

Voldemort stood abruptly and made his way over to the desk; all Harry could do was follow him with his eyes. His insides were burning with anger, anger at Voldemort, anger at Dumbledore, anger at the order, and more than that anger at himself for following Voldemort’s obvious trap. Voldemort picked up the orb and strode back over to the couch.

**XXX**

He stopped before the lifeless boy on the couch. He looked down an observed the slow movement of his chest, the fire that was lightening behind his eyes. He was unsure exactly why he was telling the boy these things, why he was allowing him to hear the prophecy. He had had no plans to do so. He had originally planned to simply deafen the boy, listen to the prophecy and kill him, but something stilled his hand. Since he saw the boy writhing in pain in the floor he decided he would play with him a bit and now there was more to it, now he was curious. He felt the smirk return to his face, held the orb in his hands and let his magic flow out.

The spectral form of the Hogwarts Divination professor lifted from the orb. Large spectacle magnifying her eyes, endless shawls draped around her person. _She looks utterly ridiculous_ , he though. He had heard of the woman, heard of her attempts to seem ethereal, but now when she spoke it was not in a put on voice but a harsh sounding rasp.

“ _The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches, borne to those who have thrice defied him, borne as the seventh month dies…and the dark lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the dark lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will be borne as the seventh month dies”_

His smirk slipped from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so the prophecy is the same, though there is a reason for it and things are not always what they seem...


	5. Mindful thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter I am Just playing in J.K Rollings Castle.
> 
> Thank you all for who are reading, commenting, and Bookmarking! This particular chapter has a lot of internal thoughts and is primary through two character's eyes, I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 5**

Severus retreated into his mind while keeping an ear on the conversation before him, thinking of what could possibly be happening to the boy while they argued over circumstances and reasons. Black was too close, that was clear for everyone to see. What of himself? How close had he allowed himself to become, how involved? He walked a very fine line to be sure, yet no one truly saw his motives nor his reasons. Lily was the only one to see past what he presented. Her green eyes would narrow past his exterior and deduced the actual interworking of his mind. Green eyes he saw on a daily basis in the face of the man he detested. It was complicated, but then so was everything about his life.

His actions had to ensure both sides believed he was following their path; he was partial to neither faction. He truly did not care for the white bearded light leader, nor his beliefs, and while he once held confidence in the Dark Lord, that confidence began to slip as the man fell into insanity and was obliterated completely with the death of Lily. Who he loved but not as everyone believed. They were siblings in everything but blood and maintained contact after her temper subsided from his own idiocy that fifth year. They had decided to allow everyone to believe their friendship had ended, because it was easier to maintain once the constant pressure from their friends and houses dissipated, and they wrote regularly.

His feeling for Potter are complicated, as he had shown he was not a carbon copy of his father, looks and specific episodes aside, but he had the temper and intelligence, though deeply hidden, of his mother. He would admit, if only to himself, that after her death he resented her child and wrestled quite often with his dislike for, as he dubbed them the, “James Potter moments” and he could often not decide if he wanted to pull the boy aside and play Uncle (he shuddered at these thoughts) or smack him upside the head (much more satisfying), though he did neither. Though he knows it is not what Lily would have wanted, he has kept his distance through the years and has shown the boy exactly what he was expected to. Yet he also sees past Potter’s own presentation and has fought the urge to become more involved as the boy struggled. He has assisted, as he could, from afar.

Even during his private Occlumecy lessons he could not show any positive sentiment, though the anger from the pensive incident was no acting, for he had seen nothing but James Potter at the time. He knew the boy reacted best under stress and had believed his aggressive tactics would broker a natural response in the boy’s mind, he miscalculated.  Now he would have to disguise any feeling of concern and showcase contempt for the boy in his own idiotic mistakes; he internally scoffed, that would not be hard. All he had to do was remember those thoughtless choices of the child that so often place him is a situation such as this one.

Hearing his own name pulled him back to the eyes before him. He glanced around then looked towards the man at the head of the table. He knew what they were asking, he had heard the question with the portion of his mind that had remained focused while pondering his own question. The entire Order was hoping that he could go in and magically, ironic really, save the boy from his own stupidity. The issue is that it is not so simple as they seemed to believe.

“That is not so simple,” he plainly responded “while I know he will be summoning me shortly for my report on the evening, I cannot arrive before he does so as he knows that I know his is handling the aftermath. Arriving before I am called would be a death sentence.” He detested having to explain himself. “There is also the fact that I will be unable to walk into his manor and begin questioning him on the status of Mr. Potter, beyond the information I would be expected to disseminate. Much less do I believe he will be keeping him where I can easily access. He is still unsure as to my loyalty…” he heard Black scoff “thus is limiting me from full access until he feels I have proven my loyalties beyond _his_ doubt. There is also little likelihood that he is keeping, what I am sure he considers his prize,” low growls erupted from the dog and wolf this time “in an area that the “common death eater” can walk unrestricted. If he has not immediately killed the boy”.

The room broke out into multiple conversations at this final statement as he had believed it would, because of course everyone felt the need to have their ideas heard, regardless of their knowledge on the matter. For all his power Dumbledore did not have half of the discipline in his Order as the Dark Lord did in his ranks. Though the man had his faults, he also had the ability to command a room. His Death Eaters had an organization that Dumbledore’s Order had never achieved. Internally he laughed, he did not always understand Dumbledore. He knew the many had the ability to command the room as the Dark Lord did; yet he chose to allow the chaos, at least to a point, for he chose that moment to step in, silencing the group at large.

“It is too early to jump to this conclusion” it was clear to Severus that the man said this simply to calm the mases, none of them wanted to believe in the death of their “savior” (did they even see he was a teenaged boy?), if they did the world would be at its end. He fought to keep his eyes from rolling. Could none of them fight for themselves? “Severus will go and do all within his power to find Harry and bring him back”

The man in question scowled at the headmaster and internally groaned. While he had intended to aid the boy as best he could he did not appreciate how the headmaster laid the sole responsibility for him at his feet. This would take time and preparation, he needed to operate in a way that did not produce suspicion in his involvement. The words the man just spoke would result in the members constant nagging about when he would get the boy out and berating him for not do so quickly enough. It would become irksome and he foresaw many headache relief potions in the future. Then there was how Black and Lupin would react should he fail to bring Potter back. He could feel the said individuals’ eyes bearing down on him. He kept his face impassive, let them do as they will he was no longer the same boy from Hogwarts and could easily defend and wound should it become necessary.

Talk broke out across the group once more, how he detested them. None seemed to have a modicum of sense, save a few, their inability to remain silent always dragged out the meetings and plans were often half finished. As a Slytherin this went against the grain, and many pushed his opinions to the side as he was a Slytherin and thus never could make a positive contribution. In fact, very few of them treated him any differently than a decoration on the wall they could pull down when they wanted to play a game. They were a group of true Gryffindor’s and he did not see success in their future with the way they currently ran.

Really though was he much better? There was little reason that he remained involved with the Order. His heart was not here and this did not lend him to want to assist in a meaningful way. He scowled at his own thoughts, right now he desired nothing more than to return to his dungeons and prepare himself for his upcoming summoning to the Dark Lord.

 

**XXX**

Voldemort stared down at the glowing orb in his hand. The figured had since melted into nothing and the silence in the room was only broken by the audible breaths of the boy sprawled across the sofa. Taking his eyes from the orb he looked at the prone figure and felt his anger rise. Green eyes stared back, fear and anger evident behind wire frames. He looked as if he wished to comment yet could barely summon the energy to focus his stare. Voldemort turned, striding across the room with seeming purpose, seething inside.

  Potter, the boy he had laying helpless at his mercy was, by words of the prophecy, _his_ equal? Marked as such by _his_ own hand? His anger hardened. It was a Self-Fulfilling Prophecy! He wanted nothing more than to rip the light from behind someone hapless victim’s eyes, yet the only option available to him was the boy and he was not truly an option at the moment. He felt his grip tighten and he resisted the urge to hurl the prophecy across the room. How far had he lost himself that he did not even consider this as a possibility before that night? His anger continued to rise, and he felt more than heard the boy moan on the couch.

Pacing back across the floor he stopped beside to the limp form. Potter had closed his eyes against the pain that was, he was sure, coursing through his skull and as he watched he saw a single tear slip from beneath the boy’s lid. He smirked, enjoying the pain his presence inflicted on the boy. It tempered his anger to a more manageable level, and with the warmth of the orb pulsing in his hand he reminded himself that the prophecy now mattered very little. He had the boy at his mercy now and thus the threat was nullified.

He reached out with the other hand and stroked a finger down the boy’s cheek, simply because he wanted to see... he was surprised as Potter was able to retreat from the touch. The pain must be more potent then he knew, if the boy was able to summon the energy to pull away (however unconscious the act was). He again wondered, why? Why does close proximity cause such an unpleasant response in Potter? He himself felt nothing more than his own distaste… well, distaste, pulsing hate, and a newfound curiosity.

 Potter had caused him nothing but grief through the years. He seemed nothing shy of ordinary, with the annoying habit of sliding out of trouble in the unlikeliest of ways, yet there was something more. Something that, despite his enmity, drew him in…made him…unsure. There was more to the boy, more to the connection than he initially believed, then he understood. What he glimpses in his mind made him wonder about Potter’s past, his own beliefs and understanding of the wizarding world. He wanted to know ,and he would understand. He now had Potter in his… _care_ … and he had the time to explore the boy’s mind and determine exactly what bound them.

He would isolate the boy, none of his Death Eater’s would be permitted near him. He did not want him tortured until he lost all sense of self, not until he completed his study of him. He stepped away from the side of the sofa and noticed how Potter’s breathing slowed and evened out as he did so. It seemed the Potter had fallen into unconsciousness once more. He had not realized, as he had been so deep into his own thoughts. “Keagan!”

“Yes Master, sir?” The elf popped back into existence with a near black cloth wrapped around him like a toga, the mark of the House of Slytherin displayed in sharp contrast to the dark fabric. Voldemort noted, for the first time, that the green of the house of Slytherin came very close to matching the, now closed, eyes of the boy on the sofa before him. He absently thought that only color of the killing curse came to be a closer match.

“Prepare the chamber off the side of my own room. Seal all of the doors except the ones connecting to the master chambers.” He did not want a possibility of anyone coming across the boy, nor the opportunity for an escape; although Potter would not make it all that far as the manor’s doors had previously been sealed against him in anticipation of his stay. “Ensure all windows are sealed as well, no openings to the outdoor world should be available.”

“Yes Master, sir!” he responded as he vanished with a slight pop.

He trusted his elf to perform the job to satisfaction, he would still go behind Keagan and place his own protections against the boy, but his elf’s magic should be sufficient against his followers in the manner. He knew Keagan would take his words and banish the door in the hallway from sight. The door to his own chamber he would ward against anyone that was not himself, and ensure it was visible to him alone. He smiled a little at this. The boy would still see the doors, he would see his freedom so close but still so very far. No one else will remember the doors were ever there, thus neutralizing any possible rescue attempts. He would not take any chances with the boy. He still was unsure of the status of Severus’s loyalty and if he played his role tonight as he was told, against the light, or if he was attempting to play a role to deceive his once Lord.

He would take Potter to his new room and call Severus for a report on the order. _Perhaps it was time for a more forceful use of legilimency against the man_ , _now that he held Potter in his hands he needed to be sure_. He moved over to the desk and gently laid the orb, charming it so that it would not roll. Turning back towards the unconscious boy, he gave a small gesture of his hand and the body rose into the air. Waving his hand once more he made his way to the door of the study, Potter slowly following as he strode out the door and down the hall towards his personal wing.

 None of his followers were able to access this area of the manor without his express permission, so the hallway remained deserted as he walked the path to his chambers. He noted as he passed that the door to the connecting room had already disappeared, showing nothing more than a blank stretch of wall. He smirked once more as he thought that none would have access to the boy. To what was now his, his to torment, his to study, his to do with as he pleased.

Reaching the door at the end of his private chamber he swung it open. Keagan had already made changes to the room that had once been his spare study. It was small but useful as he had had the draws of the desk charmed to access the files in his public study, which prevented the necessity of crossing the manor when he found himself going through reports as opposed to sleeping in the night. Now though the desk had been moved to another room down the hall and a small, but charitable, bed had been placed in the room.

He glanced towards the balcony doors and noted that they had been sealed as one to form a window, they glass unbreakable, with the seam once between them now gone. He was pleased, Potter was now caged with no way out. The window was a generosity that he did not have to allow, and he would use it as needed. He knew observing the boy in his isolation would be entertaining for him. He would open the boy as he would a book and study the contents. It would be interesting to say the least.

**XXX**

Severus grasped his left forearm with a slight hiss of pain. He had left Black’s hovel after the meeting had officially concluded, not wanting to be around the morose group any longer than was necessary. He had listened as they “planned” Potter’s rescue and saw nothing more than hopeless individuals throwing around the desperate and unachievable means. It was pathetic in his view. None of them seemed to remember that he alone, in the Order, could access the Dark Lord’s Manor. What was more was that they seemed to forget that the location of said manor was hidden similarly to the Order’s headquarters, yet more efficiently. There was no true secret keeper, the knowledge of it’s location is clear to none but the Dark Lord and the only reason his followers could access, or even see, it was due to the magic imbued in their dark marks. The only way one who was not marked could enter would be by direct intervention of the Dark Lord himself. The death eaters could only side along apparate a non-marked person with an extra pulse of magic through their mark from the Dark Lord himself. He figured this must have been what occurred to allow Potter through, and he was sure the Dark Lord had taken extra precautions against the child to prevent him from walking through any doors he did not wish him to.

He grabbed his Death Eater robes he had laid on the table in preparation for his summons and made for the entrance of the castle. He need not alert Dumbledore, as they had both known he would be summoned this evening, or morning as it now was. The hours had passed slowly, and he used the time to mentally map out the Dark Lord’s manor. He thought on the areas the Dark Lord was most likely to keep the boy. He knew he would not act until he heard the full prophecy and considered its contents. He had worked too hard to obtain it to simply act before he heard the full wording. The man was insane, this is true, but he was driven by his obsessions and a compulsive need to know all facts where Potter is concerned.

Thinking back to that night in Godric’s Hollow, Severus admitted to himself that the man’s actions were unusual and were done in haste to eliminate an unknown threat. The Dark Lord learned from his mistake of that night, and now insists on learning all facts involving the boy. It seemed that since his return his obsession had increase and he would not rest until it no longer existed.

As he reached the entrance hall he saw Professor McGonagall stationed in the shadows of the stair. She had not been at the meeting of the Order mere hours ago. He knew that as the Deputy Headmistress she had the responsibility of ensuring that safety, and order, of the castle while the Headmaster was away. He knew of her feelings regarding Potter, how she saw him as more than just another lion of her house. She probably cared more deeply for the boy than was normal for a professor, but Severus knew this was due to the closeness of the relations between herself and the Potters before him.

He stopped at the doors as she walked further into the darkened hall. She stopped with only a few steps between the two. He was unsurprised to see a slight moisture in her eyes. She was a tough woman, but he knew her emotions ran deeply. She did not permit others to see her tears and held her feeling in tight control, though he was sure she released them when alone. “I know you Severus. You care deeply for Lily and, grudgingly, you care for him too” she said this quietly, yet with a stern quality. “Do what you must to protect him even if it means waiting in the shadows. I trust you in your judgment even if the Order is blind to the precautions you must take to maintain your place.”

“Thank you, Minerva” nothing more needing to be said between the two, he turned and slid between the wooden doors, which closed behind him with a resounding echo in the otherwise silent hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so This is the last chapter I have written out, however I go on vacation from work, not school, tomorrow so I should have some time this week and I hope to get some more written. Let me know what ya'll think of Snape's character interpretation as I altered him in a large way while trying to maintain his core attributes, I would really appreciate ya'll's view of him.


	6. Loyalty Revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter I am Just playing in J.K Rollings Castle.
> 
> Yay, Vacation! Early update and Longer Chapter. I hope ya'll enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter I am simply playing in J.K. Rowling’s Castle

 

**Chapter 6**

Voldemort sat on his throne thrumming his fingers in an impatient manner. He had summed Severus near twenty minutes ago and the man had yet to appear. He was ready to move beyond this meeting and consider on some of the knowledge he gained tonight, yet he also knew this was a conversation which could not be put off. He needed to know any plans the order may be making in regard to the boy. _Not that they would be successful,_ he though while smirk flitted across pale lips. No matter the move they made, he would counter it and enjoy watching their numbers fall. He was done playing games with his so-called spy, with Potter at his will he can no longer chance his loyalties. He shall either recommitted himself to his Lord or his life will end in the most painful of ways. Bella Would be pleased.

His turned his thoughts, for he could feel the anger and distrust building in his veins, and instead mused on Potter and the Prophecy. There were some points that simply did not make since to him. Why would Dumbledore keep the boy so far in the Dark, not only in his knowledge of the world he was borne to, the world where the greater Wizarding populace believed him to be their savior, but also to the truth behind the war and his very active role in it. Had the boy always believed that his desire to kill him purely stemmed from his initial failure, and if so what reason did the boy attribute to his specific targeting of his parents. While he was loath to admit it, Potter was intelligent enough, and understood him enough, to determine that he would seldom go to such lengths to eliminate simple soldiers. The Potters were powerful and, he admits, he would gladly have eliminated them in battle but the elder Potter’s themselves they did not warrant such precious attentions.

Then there was the Prophecy itself, he needed to listen to it once more. There was this nagging feeling that the meaning was not the obvious one, _mark him as his equal…power he knows not._ No, he will not play this to the Prophecy’s will, he had his own and there was more to the boy than he was led to believe. He sneered at the thought, he hates to admit it, even to himself, but all of the information gathered on the boy was…incomplete. His death eaters and their children, his _spy_ , all of those with a biased view and assumptions in their own knowledge, offered his information. Internally he signed and cursed his own stupidity. Not a single one of those sources would look beyond the surface of the mirror, and subsequently his own deductions were flawed. Maybe he should use his own methods to deduce the truth behind the boy, maybe…

His though were interrupted by the deep vibrations of heavy oak doors. His gaze shifted and narrowed at the single hooded and cloaked figure making his way to the throne. He felt his anger build once more with every step the man took; he now truly understood how little he had come to trust Severus and his word.

“My Lord, I understand the evening was a success…”

“Yesssss.” He cut across the man, near slipping in to parseltongue in his anger. “No thanksss, I believe, to you. Tell me Severus at what point did you give into that honest streak and inform the order of what was happening this night?” He had no patience for games, he now realized just how much of his anger he was keeping at bay by focusing his mind on other points. He had unconsciously determined that his best option lay in firm direction of his distrust. If he was unable to gain the truth from the man he would rip it from behind his eyes.

“My Lord, I waited as long as was conceivable without raising suspicion in my actions…”

Voldemort spoke over the man once more “And yet the order members were still able to reach the ministry before my death eaters could exit the premises with the boy and Prophecy in hand. Do you know how many of my men were taken into custody, how many will be returned to Azkaban? This will lend credence to Dumbledore’s argument of my return. A blindness I very much had planned to utilize to it fullest before revealing myself. A blindness I could very well now lose due to your failure to maintain your silence.” His words had lowered to a mere whisper as he spoke, signaling the true danger the man before him was in.

“You are quite fortunate that Lucius and Bella managed to salvage the situation and ensure the delivery of both the Prophecy and Potter.”  He saw the man before him stiffen slightly at the mention of the boy. Severus’s head was still downcast in a show of submission and Voldemort missed the flash of emotion in the man’s eye’s.

He felt his anger rear at the man before him, while the night was in fact a success in the main objective, it had come so close to failure because of the man before him, and now his ability to operate from the shadows was in threat. “ _Crucio_ ”, he hissed with a malice rivaling even what he felt towards Potter earlier that night. He left it on the man for a full minute, relishing in the screams extracted from the form before him. Severus had not lost full control of himself and remained upright, by sheer will, with his palms pressed firmly to the floor below him.

As he lifted the curse he felt a mild dissatisfaction that he had not brought the man fully to the floor and considered reapplying the curse but decided that he did not wish for the man to become unable to respond. Unlike with Potter his time with the man was not unlimited. “Stand up Severus, tell me exactly what happened within the walls of Hogwarts after the boy received his message.” He allowed the man the time to push himself to his feet.

He would admit, the man’s ability to mask his entire being was impressive, it is what made him such a capable spy. His face was impassive, nearly blank save a single reflexive twitch of his lips, he held himself upright and looked straight in Voldemort’s eyes, as he knew anything less would be a death sentence. “My Lord, I had heard rumors that during the fifth years History Exam Potter had fallen asleep and woke abruptly scaring examiners and students alike. I was not present and thus had little firsthand information beyond the idle gossip.” The Dark Lord eyes narrowed in a sign of impatience, he had no need for “idle gossip” as the man put it and raised his wand in a sign of warning.

“It was a near two hours later that Draco Malfoy came to my office stating that Professor Umbridge was in need of my assistance, as she had apprehended the Potter boy using her floo for an unauthorized call. When I arrived in the Headmistress’s office she informed me she required Veritaserum to interrogate the boy, wanting to know who he contacted. I refused, citing that she had used my last bottle in her interrogations. As I left the idiot boy stated, “he’s got padfoot in the place that its hidden”. Voldemort held up a hand to stop him a moment. He despised the tediousness of this explanation, and if he were in the state of mind he was at his rebirth he would not have had the patience to listen to this explanation. As it stood he wanted to process for a moment when the man deduced his play on the boy. It seemed that within approximately two hours Severus’s role was placed on the board. He waived his hand for the man to continue.

“It was half an hour later when I learned that the Granger girl, Potter and Umbridge had walked the forest in another ten I observed the boy’s cohorts followed suit. I found Draco and his group incapacitated in the woman’s office and learned that the Granger girl had somehow lead Umbridge to believe that Dumbledore had a weapon in the forest. I was able to use my time spent ensuring Pomphrey reached those in Umbridge’s office, and searching for the boy in the forest, as a deterrent for informing the order.” Voldemort considered what Severus had told him and noted that the man had not stated when his first contact to the order was made. Yes, his word carried the ring of truth, but he believed that there was more hidden in his words. He strode forward allowing his robes to flow with his movement, a near silent whisper of fabric on the air, his stride was predatory as he scented the lies hidden in the man’s tongue.

“Tell me Severussss,” he hissed as he stalked behind the man who was standing stoically as was possibly “when exactly did you first contact the order?”. He allowed his tone to convey his displeasure in the man before him. “You say you used your time in the forest to lengthen the time before you informed the order of his disappearance, however I cannot help but see a gap in your report.”

“My Lord, I…”

“Do not dare lie to me again Severus I can taste the false words as if spoken by my own tongue. You are an intelligent man, and as such I refused you all of the pieces of this puzzle. You were given the final piece when Potter callously threw out the name and location, coded or not, and were able to pinpoint the basis of the plan.” He stepped back in front of the man, ensuring eye contact with the accomplished occlumens before voicing his next question “Severus did you, in fact, contact the order after learning the boy believed his godfather to be taken?”

It was the barest flash, small enough that one less skilled Legilimency would fail to detect. In fact, if he was not so aware of Severus’s own abilities he himself may have missed it in blind arrogance. As it was he could only just detect the hesitance before the man opened his lips. He did not allow him to speak. He walked into the Severus’s mind with little fanfare, dismantling the man’s preexisting defense, an expanse of mirror designed to reflect upon the invading mind exactly what they expected to see. He scoffed and shattered the mirror to nothing.

 A black fog moved in swiftly from behind the shattered mirror, the design decidedly more intricate than the shattered mirror. He felt as the encompassing mist aimed to enter his senses muffling sound, darkening light, deadening taste and attempting to suspend him in a vault of darkness. He had allowed it momentarily, feeling the coldness seep into his bones, deciding how he should dispatch the deadening fog. After a pause he waived his wand siphoning it away, slowly pulling it out of the air through his wand.

Now he found himself in a forest of Midnight Fire Lilies; numerous, oversized, sky black pedals blocked his path with barbs covering the stems in such number and size that one could not move without sticking themselves severely. Deep flames dances around the edged of the pedals threatening t burn. Apparent moonlight filtering down from above. He could not simply dissolve this field into nothing as he had the mist, nor shatter the plants into pieces as with the mirror. He also felt that burning would not be a suitable option for his passage, however moisture might aid him… he hummed and lite a small flame at the base of a stem. His suspicions were confirmed as the result was growth to the already oversized flower and threatening barb.

Heat blossomed from the flame and immediately evaporated any sign of moisture in the air. The only sign of water was in the small rivers flowing between stems. He made to step forward and watched detachedly as multiple Lilies seemed to come to life and move into his path. He reached out with his magic and felt the raw magic radiating from the plant; there was a sentience there, and an awareness of his mental presence. He knew most would not have the creativity or raw power to do what he was considering. He smiled, he would enjoy using the environment of the man’s making against him. He waived his want in a circular pattern pulling the existing water from the base of the roots and forming a cyclone to rip trough the field. He found himself in the center of his cyclone, relishing in the power that flowed through his body. He spun within his cyclone, within Severus’s own design, ripping through the Lily’s with their own life force and observing, with glee, how the root systems were pulled from the apparent earth.

Reaching the end of the field he looked back on the damage he brought, knowing the pain the man was undoubtable in as his memories were had been ripped from the soil. It was ingenious, he must admit, to hide his memories within his defense, and if he was unaware of Severus’s tendency to cover his truths in lies he would have passed the field in a fruitless search. This design was built to lead the trespasser to believe the man’s memories, his thoughts, lived beyond this field. Thus, the seeker would get lost in an endless abyss while the man’s past experiences were actually contained within the root system of the Lily’s. His gained knowledge, his magic, flowed in the springs that fed them. He was quite impressed with the man’s ingenuity.

He waded back into the field by passing the oldest and largest Lilies in search of the younger and smaller ones, knowing these would house the events of the evening. The Dark Lord lowly chuckled at the damage her passed, it would take months for the man to repair it. After what seemed ages he found the most recent memories and pulled at the roots. Allowed his conscious to flow into the events of the evening he found just what he had expected. Severus had been truthful to a point.

He observed as Potter shouted his warning and the man’s seemingly unconcerned response, beneath his word though he felt the man’s true emotion. He was thinking that the Dark Lord could not have presented a better lure to the boy, though he was unsure as to its authenticity. He had decided to verify whether Black had left his hovel and found him safe within the house. Though he did not, in this floo, mention any concern of Potter possibly leaving school grounds his words clearly set the order on alert. Voldemort continued to watch the events unfolded, following how Severus described and yet as he observed the man searching the forest a hidden concern for the boy became apparent in his mind. How had Voldemort missed this concern in the man before; it was so clear, in this memory, and building as he searched the forest. It fueled to his own growing anger. He watched as the man returned to the school, headed straight to his quarters, and flooing the headquarters of the Order he wasted no time explaining the situation.

With a scream of rage, he ripped himself from the man’s mind with little care for the damage he may be causing. “ _Cruio_ ” his voice was ice cold. “So, Severus you were not completely dishonest in your words. However, while you did not initially tell the order of your concerns you call still put them on alert, they prepared, and once you were sure you could not find the boy you wasted no time in informing his failure of a godfather.” He seethed in his anger and paced before the man beneath him. It was apparent that Severus was in a deep pain, between the ripping of his mind and the tearing in his nerves the man would have no ability to move or think coherently for several minutes and only then would he, barely, regain a small sense of self.

Voldemort continued his pacing. Severus held no loyalty to him, not as it stands. _His loyalty lay solely with the unconscious child upstairs_ …he halted.

That idea held merit. While it was clear that Severus felt a connection to the boy, probably due to his mother, his magical inclination was still dark. It was obvious in the methods in which he defended his mind, in the magic that flowed through his wand, he was still a dark wizard. He still needed his eyes in the Order, he had no other as close to Dumbledore as he needed, it was good that he had decided against telling Severus of the other member he held inside, Severus would had felt it necessary to protect the boy against them.

That, however was a thought for another time. Currently he needed eyes on Dumbledore and he had a way to ensure those eyes did not wonder. He smiled wickedly, Severus would remain useful, if in his own distaste. A pained groan reverberated around the room, he snapped his eyes back to the near motionless form below. He felt tempted to cast another _Crucio_ , then decided against it. There was no reason to prolong this conversation further than need be. He now saw his end and it would hold great enjoyment to watch as the man squirmed. He walked back to his throne, sliding his wand in his sleeve as he went; upon reaching it he turned to observe the feeble attempts of his Death Eater to regain his orientation.

“Severus, stand when you can. We still have much we need to discuss.” As he said this he sat himself down in amusement and enjoyed the pained look the man was no longer able to hide. After having his mind and body torn through so viciously it was a testament to his own strength that he could show any semblance of awareness at all. Severus’s whole body shook as he rose first to his knees and then slowly pushed himself to his feet with his hands. _Inner Strength indeed_.

“Severus your position in this war has now become clear, to me and to you.”

“May I say a prayer before you end me” Voldemort could detect the attempted snark in his words. Voldemort almost laughed at his audacity; the man felt he had reached the end, he no longer cared for appearances.

“My dear Severus, you have all the time you need for prayer, I have no plan to kill you presently” The man’ eyes grew wide, clearly unable to understand the words just spoken to him. Voldemort chuckled in his way. “No, Severus you still may be useful to me.”

**XXX**

Severus continued to take deep slow breaths, not wishing to further his pain. The Dark Lord’s tone carried a heavier weigh than his words alone indicated. He needed to focus his mind, but this was easier said than put in to practice. His head and body throbbed at opposing rhythms. His nerves continued shooting pulses of pain through his weakened form. His head felt as if thousands of strings has been torn from their base and pulled taut, his thoughts stretched and slow to come. He knew that this feeling was the remnants of the Dark Lord’s foray into his mind, and if took the time to reflect on his Occlumency defenses he would find them decimated. He was in no state to defend himself from the Dark Lord, be it mentally or physically.

“No, Severus you still may be useful to me.”

Those words continued to reverberate in his mind echoing, rebounding as if in a vast chamber with no end. “And what… my Lord… may I ask will this use to be?” His body continued to thrum in pain and he grit his teeth in an attempt to block it out. He could barely focus and knew he needed all the mental faculties he could muster.

“You will continue your role as spy against Dumbledore and his Order.” Severus, uncharacteristically, felt his jaw drop. This was not what he had anticipated from the Dark Lord. He was sure that, in his betrayal, the Dark Lord would pull all of the old man’s secrets from his mind before he opened his torment to the likes of Bella. He shuddered, though this was most probably due to his current state than his distaste for the woman.

“You will continue your role with the exception that you will no longer be the dual spy.” Severus clicked his jaw close, disbelief etched deeply in his eyes. “No longer will you offer information to the Order unless I explicitly state otherwise. And I will know should you chose to go against my word. Give me your arm Severus.” The white bone, yew, wand was pulled from its sleeve, held in a skeletal grip.

Severus remained where he was, unwillingly to comprehend just what the Dark Lord believed he would do. “And why, _my Lord_ , would you wish me to continue this role. I assume you saw with whom my loyalties lay.

The Dark Lord smirked, pointed flashing briefly in the low light. “Why Severus, so forthcoming this evening. Perhaps a lion’s bravery was laying hidden?” Severus attempted a scowl but failed in his current state. The yew wand dropped a fraction as the Dark Lord’s head tilted in contemplation, “Perhaps, the boy has a stronger influence than you knew?” He refused to look away from the Dark Lord, noting the amusement in the man’s tone. His breath had caught momentarily at the mention of the boy and he was reminded that he had gained no knowledge as to Potter’s current state. He hoped his catch had passed unnoticed by the man before him but by the look in the man’s eyes he knew it had not.

“Yessss,” he heard how close the man was to slipping into parseltongue, indicating the fine line he was treading. Voldemort stood and paced closer to the man before him, stopping within inches of him and leaning in. Severus felt the cold breath against his face as the Dark Lord spoke, “Thissss _loyalty_ , as you believe it to be, is exactly why you will perform your duty as expected.” Voldemort pulled away and strode back to his throne, “The boy is alive.” Severus froze, unsure if he had truly heard those words. He turned again to face Severus “He will remain alive for the time being. His current health is stable, however whether it remains so is dependent on how capable you are in your duties.”

In that moment it fully registered. Harry was alive, according to the Dark Lord, though why this was the case was unclear to Severus and he doubted the Dark Lord would tell him.

Severus now realized that the man before him was not the same man that had returned this last year. He was ruthless, sadistic, and he held no mercy, but he was not insane as many believed.

And he would be unable to tell the Order, Dumbledore, anyone of the true danger this man now posed. If he slipped in his duty Potter would not survive and Lily would never forgive him. And it all became clear to the man. The Dark Lord had read enough in his thoughts to deduce his complex relationship with the boy, his true intent towards his safety, _and he would use it…_

**XXX**

He watched his Death Eater as he worked through what was placed before him. Empty eyes stared sightless before him, he almost laughed as he saw the evidence before him click into place.

Uncharacteristically the man’s mouth opened and closed in his shock. He seemed to have lost his wits for the word that next came from his mouth ensured him another _Crucio_ “Your sanity… is intact?”, he then collapsed to the ground as he was assaulted with Voldemort’s fury. Given another minute and he lifted his wand once again. “You try my patience Severus, I need not explain my actions to you. Now stand and give me your arm”. The man rose slowly once more. It was clear his body was fighting his every movement.

Finally reaching his feet, his Death Eater began a slow progress towards his thrown. Stopping before his Lord he held out his arm. Severus looked him dead in the face, yet his thoughts were an open book as his mind was in no state to erect his shields. He grasped his hand roughly and watched as the man winced. Voldemort smiled before pressing his wand to the man’s mark sending pulsing magic through the man’s skin, targeting his mark. “I have constructed my own shields in your mind, yours have fallen in a deplorable state, they will appear as if they are you own and will protect your mind until you can rebuild you defenses.” He smiled viciously, as Severus clutched at his head with his right hand “These shields will remain once you rebuild yours and will prevent any defense you build towards keeping me out of your mind as well a block any attempt at divulging information I have not permitted you to share.” He released the arm in his grasp, taking his seat in his throne.

“Now Severus, this audience is over. I have more important matters I wish to attend to. Be aware that your actions are being monitored. Return after the students leave as we have more to discuss. Rest before you return to the old fool. Give him no information on the boy.”

He watched coldly as the man painfully retreated from the room. He allowed a smile to stretch openly across his pale lips. It may not have been his initial plan for the man, but it was a far more profitable use than to have him rotting away in the dungeon after he divested him of his information.

Voldemort stood and disapperated to his study. He locked his door with a complex charm and waived closed his eyes in thought. The visage of Voldemort melted like snow in a spring rain, the skeletally thin frame filled out in lean muscle, a nose grew from between two slits, thick dark curls seem to sprout form a bare scalp, and a chiseled jaw line appeared against alabaster skin. Voldemort opened his eyes to reveal scarlet irises, the only resemblance that existed between the man now standing in the study and the Dark Lord present before him.

He moved over to the desk and sat behind it. Picking up the orb he examined it between his hands, feelings its smooth surface beneath his fingers. He observed the glow beneath the glass and allowed his own magic to encompass the orb, feeling the presence within. There it was, a faint flicker beneath the surface. Something hidden by the one who formed it…he smirked. The effect entirely different beneath a true nose and full, dark, lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I am going to be honest there was defiantly a part of this chapter I did not enjoy. Can you tell me which part? Unfortunately, it had to be a part of it for Voldemort to determine the man's loyalties. This chapter kind of ran away from me and I opened Snape's character a bit... I fully intended to cover the Voldemort & Snape conversation but I had not initially intended it to take up the whole chapter...I hope it was worth it. Please tell me how you liked both their character interpretations and their interaction!


	7. Truer Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter I am Just playing in J.K Rollings Castle.
> 
> I am sorry I am late with this chapter...I tired to make up for it with length and content. I hope you enjoy. Thank you to everyone who is reading and commenting on this fiction I really appreciate the feedback.

**Chapter 7**

Voldemort stood toward the center of his study, straight backed, one arm across his chest with his other hand tucked under his chin, supporting his thoughts. He considered the glowing orb he had suspended at the room’s center. This was the source of his irritation at the moment. He had finished with Severus several hours ago and had since remained in his study mulling over the orb before him.

He moved in a circle around the orb in question and allowed his magic to flow out once more; directed it to wash over the orb and intermingle with the residual magic attached to the Prophecy. He could feel it, just at the edges, nearly intangible yet still detectable to those who had the ability to sense and read magical signatures. Voldemort pulled his own magic back in and tore his gaze from the sphere, widening his circle. He could feel two signatures attached to the orb, one significantly stronger than the other, and he was quite familiar with the dominating magic. He assumed the smaller source was that of the unspeakable whose magic spun the sphere around the ghostly memory.

He thought back to the information that Rookwood had given him regarding the process in which the prophecies were recorded. When a prophecy was given it did not immediately appear in the hall of prophecy but must be filed and recorded through the memory of the one who the prophecy was spoken to. This was one point that the man stressed when reporting him on the process, the prophecy can only be recorded from the memory of the recipient of the prophecy. Due to the nature of the Hall of Prophecy and magic involved in creating the spheres, the recordings only held when paired with the memory of the recipient of the prophecy.

When Voldemort questioned the man further on the matter he was unable to answer in specifics of the process, nor could he say why the magics were so specific in the recordings. The Hall of Prophecy was a restricted area within the Department of Mysteries and Rookwood’s focus had not been within the Hall. Prior to his forced seclusion, the need for Rookwood in the department had been strongest in the study of magical developments. The ministry had taken to implementing tighter laws and regulations on the practices of spell creation and magical development, thus severely limiting the ability of the magical population of Britain to independently further magical development.

This was another thorn in his side of the current Ministry rule. The Ministry maintained a firm grip on the magical population and did so in such a way that very few people were even aware of the strangle hold. It seemed the only ones who realized the extent to which they were limited were the Dark families, and this was only because their family rituals and ceremonies were the most highly regulated and restricted by Ministry law. Those families, like the Malfoys and the Notts, had reverted their arts to the shadows, as Ministry has furthered its reach over the nation, and taken to practicing them behind closed doors. Hiding as if their heritage were something to be ashamed of. It sickened him, how deeply the world had fallen through the years. How the wizarding community become a static society that was comfortable in its own mediocrity. Voldemort scoffed, he was getting off track, and pushed the thoughts aside for another time.

When Severus first brought the Prophecy to his attention his sole focus had been on the elimination of the threat, and he failed to perform the research he normally would have done to ensure the authenticity of the Prophecy. Now though…now he had more insight into the Hall of Prophecy. Since his return he had delved deeply into several areas he had been neglecting in his mental decline, and he had held a particular interest in the recordkeeping practices of prophecies and their properties. When he had pulled Rookwood and the others out of Azkaban he had allowed time for the man’s mind to recover from the dementor exposure before questioning him, again, on the Hall of Prophecy. He had hoped that by questioning Rookwood once more he could find a track to center his research on. Even if the man had little information to offer himself, the possibility existed that he could find some source of insight he had previously overlooked in the man’s limited knowledge pool.

In speaking with Rookwood, the man was unable to communicate anything of value; however, slipping gentle into the man’s mind he was able to search out the information he needed. While his Death Eater had no conscious knowledge concerning the containment of prophecies he did know of an Unspeakable who could prove useful in his research.

From Rookwood’s memories the man was advanced in his years, even older than the old fool, and when he first learned of the Unspeakable he grew concerned that the man would have already been in the ground. Thankfully the Unspeakable had survived over the ten years that Rookwood had spent within the prison. Though he had removed himself so far from society that finding the man in question was more difficult than he would have liked. Jacobus Erstwyl was an intelligent and formidable man, proven by his success within his particular field. The man had once been the prominent inside the Ministry both inside and out of his Unspeakable role. Erstwyl had been a known name through the halls of the ministry for generations and Jacobus, himself, was highly respected for his role in the Wizengamot. His knowledge of the law was extensive and often lead prominent family heads seeking his opinion, though his contributions in the Department of Mysteries were kept silent outside of the reclusive department. In fact, many of those prominent families who had sought out Erstwyl’s opinion so fastidiously had no knowledge of the man’s role inside the department, and very few within the Department had known that Erstwyl had been the man within the robe.

Voldemort had known of the man’s role through Rookwood’s own status within the Department, yet he had held little use for Erstwyl’s knowledge at the time. He had forgotten until he had looked into Rookwood’s mind and cursed himself for both his insanity of the past and stupidity of the present. Erstwyl was high in the department, at the time the Prophecy was given, and could have been of great assistance in gathering information. He shook his head frowning slightly, thankfully the man was still able to be of use and provide him with the information he needed.

Voldemort smiled sharply. Erstwyl had been a gold mine, though digging through the dirt to reach the prize had take great care and patience. The man had been a deadly snake hidden in the grass, and a true Slytherin to his death. He had retired himself outside the Wizarding world so far that it had taken several months and a few disturbing trips through the mind of muggles to locate him. His age as reached greater then 150, and to all appearances he seemed a frail and tired old man who was ready for his peaceful retreat. How appearances can be deceiving. His wards were of a complex and forgotten art and his mental barriers were as tight as Voldemort’s own. Erstwyl gave no verbal answer to his inquirers, no matter how…politely he had asked. In the end it had taken a few weeks of painstakingly picking through the man’s mental shields while ensuring no mental damage occurred.

It was maddening and required a greater control over his own temperament than he had exercised in a long while. Though the results had largely contributed refining his forceful Legilimency skills. He had forgotten that sometime a subtle and precision infiltration in the mind arts can yield greater results than a vicious barrage, the ease with which he dismantled Severus’s barriers were a testament to that.

He continued his circles around the orb, remembering the information he had taken from the man’s mind. When a Seer recites a prophecy within the boards of Britain, a file is created within the Hall of Prophecy alerting the Unspeakables to the time, date, the Seer and the Recipient. The recipient will then be written, asking for their presence within the department inside a 24-hour period. The next step involved removing the memory of the event form the mind of the recipient, then transferring it into the recently formed sphere thus securing the record in a tangible form. The Prophecy is then transferred to the shelf where the warding spells preventing anyone, who was not the subject, from removing the prophecy from the shelf.

Continuing further, Voldemort had learned that there was innate power behind the words spoken by Seers and when prophecies are spoken that power particle transfers into a single individual, existing in the memory of the recipient. Furthermore, when the Unspeakables create the spheres in which the recordings are held they use a sand grain similar to the one found in the time turners. The process involves superheating the grains with a contained form of Fiendfyre and transferring the memory of the recipient to the Orb before the glass cools. With the magical properties of the grain the Orbs require a catalyst, or the sphere would collapse after cooling thus breaking down the memory confined within. According to the research of the Unspeakables in the Hall of Prophecy, that catalyst exists in the memory of the direct recipient.

Voldemort halted in his circles, eyes moving back to the orb and took a step closer. The magics, both signatures, should flow smoothly through the sphere. I did not. It was miniscule, almost unnoticeable but the magics within this sphere stuttered slightly, a hiccup and not in the smaller magical signature but in the larger one, in Dumbledore’s magical signature.

That is what was drawing in his curiosity most heavily. What was the stuttering? From his understanding there was little to no ability to manipulate a prophecy when spoken but knowing the old man as he does the possibility cannot be discounted. He hummed and released his magic again seeking out the flaws in the essence of the sphere. His magic bypassed the hard surface of the glass as if it were water and mingled with the greater magic within, he could feel his magic combing through the minute tangles presented. He pulled at the tangles of magic trying to figure out exactly the source of the flaw and sighed when they held firm. The old man was hiding something, something that concerned him enough to modify official ministry records and that was enough to raise his own.

His magic continued its roving, looking for that stray piece that could lead him to unravel the whole and…there. So small that had he not been continually feeding his magic into the orb before him it would have been missed. A stray stand left, by less than a millimeter, floating lightly in the magic’s stream. He tugged at it and… nothing…he pushed more force behind his magical strands, gripping gentle enough to avoid damage but also firmly enough to effect change. His magic connected more firmly and seemed to fuse with that inside the sphere.

The old man’s magic was detestable to the touch, he could feel it throughout his entire being and it sickened him. The magic coiled, cold and slick, slipping around his own like a parasite looking to settle a new home, it felt like the magic had a will of its own and hoped to devour his in turn. He sneered at the feeling of it and pushed back, he would not allow a detached piece of the old fool to overpower his own magical reserves. He continued to push against the force of the magic and felt it when the pressure began to lessen then retreat back from his own. He smirked and pushed harder grabbing onto the loose strand of magic and giving a forceful tug and internally rejoiced as the microscopic stutters in the magic opened and flowed into a more even stream. 

Voldemort stepped back from the sphere and allowed his magic to return to him, leaving the old man’s behind. He directed it to brush against the outside of the sphere activating the Orb, the bespectacled form of the abysmal Seer rose from within…

_“The one with the ability to match the Dark Lord approaches…born the those who have thrice defied him…born as the seventh month dies. And that Dark Lord will mark him as his equal for he has powers of which he knows not…and together they stand against those who oppose them, joined by experiences unfelt and unknown…offering adaptations of new from the old…the one with the power to match the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…”_

Voldemort froze where he stood, this had not been what he was expecting. He had felt the flaws in the magic but figured the changes would have been closer to bolstering the abilities of the supposed “savior” and not that the said “savior” was not a savior at all but that the boy could be more in line with his own beliefs, his… _equal_? He still had his doubts about that point, regardless of its place in both versions. Though he did wonder what power the boy could possibly have which could place him on par with himself…this again raised his interest in the boy as it presented a mystery to be unraveled.

He absently strode back to the center of the room grasping the Prophecy as he moved past and depositing it on the desk before him. This left even more to consider than before, he had been set up from the beginning. Manipulated in his instability and he fell for it beautifully. He had to, begrudgingly, respect the tactic the old man had taken. Dumbledore had taken what should have been a great asset to his movement and distorted it to suit his own purposes…

 He stilled once more…Severus… at the time the man had been firmly in his pocket, or so he believed, then how was it that the words the man had given him reflected the altered prophecy. Anger crashed over him once more…how long had the man been working against him? It made no sense, from what he had taken from the man’s mind his loyalties had shifted because of his targeting of the boy and in effect his mother. He would need to look into that the next time the man presented himself.

Voldemort sat down behind his desk, closed his eyes and pinched his nose in frustration; there were too many pieces to this puzzle and he should have seen the false lines ages ago. He raised his head and looked towards the clock. It was nearing five, Potter should be waking in a few hours and he was quite looking forward to playing with the boy some more.

**XXX**

Harry slowly felt himself rising from the depths of encompassing blackness. His entire being felt sluggish as if he was wading through a pool of thickened pudding. He felt his nerves tingling and sparking in bursts of muted pain from events he could only vaguely grasp. He tried opening his eyes and felt the heaviness in his lids fighting back. After a brief battle the darkness lifted, and the fuzziness began to recede, revealing an unfamiliar and sparsely furnished room. In fact, as he looked around the room, the only piece of furniture that seemed to be present was the bed he was currently laying on.

He searched his memory for how he had gotten here…and came up blank. This was not new to him due to his seemingly endless stream of visits to the hospital wing. What was raising his nerves though was the fact that the last conversation he could remember having was with the source of everything his mind was trying to block. He allowed himself to sit up and groaned as his body complained. Slowly he pushed himself back against the headboard, looking for the support he could not hold on his own. Leaning back, he realized the effort to move had him breathing heavily and he grimaced at the stiffness he felt in his body.

The potion Voldemort had forced him to take had been, somewhat, of a blessing at the time but now he could feel the muted effects slowly draining from his system. In some ways he would have preferred the shakes and contractions when compared to this gradually building soreness he was now feeling as his muscles seemed to slowly waken from a forced incapacitation. He lifted his hand to his head looking for some release from a steady throbbing, which was worsened by the light filtering through a broad window and stabbing at his eyes; Harry closed them trying to block it all out. Maybe when he opened them he would find himself in his room at the Dursley’s, even that hell would be better than being where he was now.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes again squinting slightly to lessen light hitting him so strongly. He looked around and felt like a blow landed in his stomach. It was the same room, modestly sized (yet still bigger than his room at the Dursley’s) and with nothing more than the bed he sat on. Glancing around he noted the broad window once more and realized, in his second look, it was actually a set of double doors that lead to a moderate balcony. Though he was sure that the chances of the doors opening would non-existent, what with the lack of handles and the fact that they seemed to have been sealed at the seam. Apart from that there were another two doors, one directly across from the foot of the bed and the other on the wall to his left.

There was no question in his mind that none of these doors would open for him and he knew it was pointless to try but knew he would anyway. He pushed himself to the edge of the bed moving slowly because of the stiffness he felt. Closing his eyes, he counted to ten then pushed himself up. He walked slowly towards the door on the left and reached out his hand to grasp the handle, expecting to feel the cool brass against his fingers…there was nothing. His hand closed on air as it passed through the knob like there was nothing there. He stared…his hand was fisted seemingly inside the handle, the handle he was sure was there, he could feel a smoky coolness surrounding his closed fist and when he removed his hand from within the depths of the smoke it reformed into the shined handle with light reflecting off its mirrored surface. He continued to stare and reached out once more for the handle he was sure existed, and it turned again to smoke. It was as if the metal became… an apparition when it came in contact with his skin

There was a low clicking that caused him to snap his head around, a move he regretted almost instantly as the pain shot through his body from the action and nearly caused his to fall from an added lack of balance. He closed his eye to regain his bearings and after a moment he was able to open them. He found himself staring in shock. He knew who the man before him was but still could not connect this appearance to the murder of his parents.

In the doorway stood a strongly built man of approximately six feet in height, curled brown hair fell gracefully around his face, just long enough to brush the back of his neck. A nose had appeared beneath two sharp brows and above full lips, which were quirked up in an uncharacteristic smile, even his skin had changed from sickly pale to a firm alabaster. The only characteristic that would have alerted someone to the monster lurking beneath were the red eyes. This was the reflection of Tom Riddle he had met in the Chamber, this was the reflection of the man who could have existed before his explorations into the dark arts deteriorated his being…

Harry’s mental process came to a screeching halt. Where had that though come from? Why would it matter what Voldemort looked like or what he could have been without losing himself? This was his reality, he was the captive of the man who murdered his parents. A man who was a known sociopath and sadist, his goals was total domination of the wizarding world and subjugation of the muggle population. His appearance had little effect on that facts of his situation.

The man’s smirk broadened “Well Harry, I see you have regained some of your lost strength. Tell me,” he continues as he strode across the room, leaning against the wall beside the balcony door “have you had the opportunity to discover how the wards are laid?”

Harry glared at the man then back to the offending knob. Voldemort chuckled lowly “Yes Harry the door and the knob are really there, however your ability to touch them is… well let’s just say to you the doors are intangible.” He flashed his teeth in a mocking way. “This applies to both doors in this room and, as I hope you noticed, this apparent window will also not be opening to your touch.” He pushed off the wall and made his way across the room circling Harry like bird of prey.

“No one else has access to this room, no one else even remembers this room exists.” Voldemort stopped directly behind Harry. He stood in the limited space between Harry and the wall, close enough for Harry to feel the man’s body heat pressing against him. As he next spoke the man’s breath ghosted across the back of his neck, causing him to shiver in discomfort “You will not be leaving this room Harry and soon the Order will realize that no opening will exist for your rescue. They will fail and move on from their attempts, their concerns gracing other needs in the war.”

Harry closed his eyes wanting nothing more than to turn and hit the man…no monster behind him. He hated how little control he currently had, how little control he had always had in his own life. No matter where he was it seemed he had no ability to make any of the decisions for his own life. Dumbledore, the Dursley’s, Voldemort, even at Hogwarts his decisions were all controlled by those around him. The Dursley’s never gave him a modicum of freedom, his life was controlled from sunrise to sunset with whichever chores they felt would take the most time. Often times they made him redo them to meet their unrealistic expectations or Dudley would come be and destroy any work he accomplished forcing him to start over again…and again. Dumbledore had also made decisions from afar, distancing himself from Harry as he offered his _sage_ advice, which was never simply the advice the man made it out to be, but more along the lines of a veiled expectation.

 At least when he was at school he had an illusion of his own choices; in reality though it was just that, an illusion. Every decision he had every made would be reviewed by everyone around him and judged regardless of how insignificant. In the end his decisions always fell to what the light’s savior should do, or how he should act. Now though even that illusion had disappeared, and he was back to feeling as if he was back at the Dursley’s, or under the headmaster’s thumb, forced to act on Voldemort’s barest whim. He hated it.

He clinched his fists in his anger and felt his magic beginning to build inside him. No matter what he did, where he went, his life would never be his own. Someone would always be behind the curtain pulling the strings as if her were a mindless puppet, and he was tired of it. His magic began to stir within him, growing with every passing moment, breaching the tight controls he never even knew were present. In his anger he never even realized the charge in the air around him, the way his hair began to stand on end, his bangs lifting in an unnatural breeze, and more than that he failed to notice the way in which Voldemort took a step back eyes staring in surprise at the unprecedented power radiating from the boy.

**XXX**

Voldemort’s mind wnet blank at the boy before him. This was an unexpected development, he had never felt this level of magic come from him, in truth he had seldom felt this much magical power pulsing off a single individual, not counting Dumbledore’s or his own abilities. It was…unexpected to say the least. He moved back around the boy stopping in front of him, feeling his magic pressing and pushing against his own. The boy’s hair was dancing above his forehead, his eyes seemed to be glowing in time with his pulses of magic yet also eerily empty as if his mind disconnected to the world around him.

The pulsing continued, growing in strength as time passed. He felt as Harry’s magic grew, and the windows rattled. The bed creaked as the force of the boy’s magic pushed against the old grains. Enough was enough, while Potter’s display was impressive his lack of control was not. The boy seemed lost as he broke through his self-restraints, unable to root himself in reality as his mind and emotions were running rampant.

Voldemort increased his own magical output and the feelings of clashing magic began crackling within the room, a seeming storm brewing in previous calm. The boy’s magic was strong, he would admit, but raw power would only go so far, especially when placed against an equal power base with the added advantage of control.

He continued to watch the boy as their magic clashed and he knew the moment the Potter’s magic began to falter. He saw a spark in the boy’s eye that signified his awareness was returning and his magic soon overtook to the other’s. He had his own magic surround and encase the boy cutting off his access to his magical core. Reflexively, he caught the boy as his body sagged from its magical exertion. It was clear this burst of magic had sapped the boy of the little strength he had regained. Surprised by his own actions he gently moved him back to the bed, this was the second time in 24-hours he had prevented to boy from collapsing to the floor. He shook his head, unsure where this care came from.

Regardless of what the true Prophecy may say, the boy was currently nothing more than that, a boy. A boy who had little knowledge beyond what was spoon feed to him. He stepped away from the bed keeping his eyes on the body sprawled out across it and slowly released his own magical hold on Potter’s core, allowing Harry’s magic to slowly filter back through his body. Harry groaned, and his eyelids fluttered.

This was becoming tiresome, it seemed every conversation he had with the boy resulted in his loss of consciousness. Waiving his wand he silently cast the tempus spell and sighed, seeing it was currently 9:16. He had other obligations to his time and the boy clearly was in no state for continued conversation.

“Keagan.” He called lightly. There was the usual pop signifying the arrival of the small elf.

“Yes, Master Sir?”

“Be sure to watch Mr. Potter. When he wakes bring him some food and a nutrition potion, then come and alert me of his condition.” The elf nodded, his oversized ears flapping as he bobbed his head.

“Yes Master, Keagan will watch Master Potter Sir, and find Master Dark Lord after he eats”. He turned, intending to start on his day, but stilled at the words the elf spoke.

“Be aware Keagan, Potter is no more your master than my Death Eaters who roam these halls and you shall not treat him as such. He is not allowed to leave this room, nor are you to cater to his requests. Should he need something I will inform you of what it is and when he should receive it.” The elf nodded but there was something behind the large eyes that unsettled him, he shook his head and turned, striding quickly from the room.

He would give Potter this last time to recover and the next time they spoke…well if the boy passed out again he would not be granted the brief reprieve a third time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I honestly did not plan to have Harry falling unconscious at the end of this chapter...it just seemed to fit the flow, even against my preference, but I would not change the scene because I think it has a good insight into how I plan to develop Harry's character and unfortunately the brief power spike did him no help...Please let me know what you are thinking and if you like it. This chapter really took a long time for me to write and I am curious to how if reads...also I think I am in need of a Beta. Are there any takers  
> I will aim to get back to my Thursday updates this coming week.


	8. Author's Note

Okay so I apologize, but at this time I am stuck in a perpetual windfall of school work and new job training. The next couple of weeks updates will be sparatic due to working loads. Hopefully after this set of five weeks my schedule will peter out a bit. I will try to maintain updates as I can.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter I am simply playing in J.K. Rowling’s Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is still reading this fiction. I am sorry It took me as long as it did to get this chapter out, and unfortunately it has not been fully Beta read. In the end I felt that it was time to get the chapter posted since it had taken so long. This chapter was one that needed numerous sittings to complete...I hope it was worth the wait. Big Thanks to my new Beta who bore with me through the time InkDoodle, You are Awesome!

**Chapter 8**

_He had been slowly, sightlessly drifting. Nothing but voices shrieking on the air, some shouting at him, others just barely heard in the medley. Voices he knew existed in the past, words he wished he never heard, words spat at him in anger because of burned breakfasts, missed chores, the heir of Slytherin, how like his father he was, snide comments hushed in echoing halls, taunting laughter, the failure he would be as Champion, claiming him a liar, hissing him his death, his friends’ anger or disapproval…and underneath it all were the wise words of an aged professor so sure in his own belief._

_The whirlwind continued picking up speed, surrounding tendrils of shadows slowly thickening, and interwoven so tightly no light could break through. Voices began to blur, growing in volume, deafening to the point of incoherency, piercing his eardrums to the point he wished he were deaf. Harry tried covering his ears, hoping to block out the hate, the hurt, the pain, anything and everything. He prayed for silence, wished for nothing more than blessed silence, for the depths of this current darkness to block out the noise._

_Suddenly the shadows began to break apart. Slowly at first, allowing small rays of light to pierce through the endless darkness. His heart beat calmed as the words slowed and lowered, nearing silence but not quite there. One voice penetrated the silence, a voice that bellowed louder and louder, making him flinch instinctually at its hate._

_“Boy!”_

_He spun round, the growing light finally breaking through haze remaining behind the shadows. He found himself in a familiar house. He would not call it a home, never this place. A home was somewhere one felt safe and warm, a place where someone found contentment in their surroundings and love with in its walls. That had never been Private Drive. He looked down, felt his hand move behind his back as he nervously shifted from foot to foot._

_“Boy! I am speaking to you!” Swallowing deeply the small boy gathered his little courage and looked up at his Uncle. The man towered over him, upset over something Harry didn’t finish._

_He had left for work that morning aggravated over one thing or another. Harry remembered how hot the day had been, for it was the middle of July, and how much he had to do while his cousin went to the playground with his aunt to meet his friends. Harry’s cupboard had been slammed open by the man at six-thirty that morning for him to start a full breakfast before his Uncle was due for work. He had quickly got to work gathering all of the items his uncle and cousin liked best; juice, eggs, bacon, sausage, syrup (Dudley refuse to eat his sausage without syrup) and pancake mix. He struggled to reach the butter, which was placed on the very top shelf of the fridge, and in the end had to move a chair from the table while silently praying his tiny six-year-old body would finally grow to a normal size._

_As he was finishing the eggs his uncle walked back in to the kitchen and proceeded to scarf down the food on the table as if it would run away any second, which it probably would if given the chance. Harry had heard his stomach grumble while his uncle helped himself to his third plate of egg, then the man slammed back his chair telling him, “Do not forget Dudley’s pancakes and to finish the chores your Aunt gives you before I come back!” before stomping down the hall and exiting into the morning sun. Harry had looked at the clocked and realized it was then seven-thirty meaning his cousin would be up in thirty minutes screaming for his pancakes and usual cartoon session on the telly._

_His day had become worse from there; for breakfast he was allowed a single piece of toast then ordered to start on the dishes, the wash, the dusting, and vacuuming. By midday Dudley had been glued to the television for four hours and Aunt Petunia, deciding she needed to go on some errands, arranged for Dudley to play at one of his friends’ houses down the street. She herded Harry outside the house as well, informing him that she expected him to tend to the gardening while she was away.  He must have been at it for several hours, taking drinks from the hose, before his cousin and his friends decided that a game of “Harry hunting” was necessary.  The chased him for the rest of that afternoon, ensuring that Aunt Petunia came home to a garden only half weeded and lightly watered._

_Now his uncle stood before him, in all his purple glory, showering him in spit as he let loose his anger about, “No good lay-a-bout delinquent, taking for granted the what your aunt and I have given you”. The man raised his large hand swinging back as if to strike the boy before him and Harry flinched instinctually. He tried to block it, but the back of the man’s hand came down with enough force to make Harry’s whole-body twist, head hitting the wall behind him with enough force that he saw stars. He could feel the blackness moving back in as his small body had gone unconscious in that instance._

_Words picked up once more, wind building for a time before receding again, opening to that time in his first year where he, Hermione, and Neville lost 150 points and were shunned by their house and most of the school. His second year, suspicious glances, and Ernie MacMillan accusing him of petrifying Justin Finch-Fletchley. Snape goading him, claiming he was nothing more than his father, crossing lines, and reveling in his fame. Being forced into a tournament and the “Potter Stink’s” badge, jeering in the hallways. Being forced back to the Dursley’s, isolated in Private Drive, the dementors, Grimmauld Place, the hearing. Articles claiming him a liar or insane, sideways glances, skirting in the hallways. Dumbledore refusing to speak with him, avoiding all contact. All these scenes from his past flashing rapidly across his memory but seemingly an eternity in their replay._

_Then Voldemort … telling him of how he would not be leaving, of how no one would find him, more isolation … it was never ending. The seemingly endless stream slowed allowing darkness to creep back in slowly overcoming his course of thought. Peace overtook him, the sense of overload being pushed away until … nothing. His mind seemed to collapse in on itself taking with it any form of conscious thought, throwing him into a nothingness that offered the comfort of blissful unawareness._

Slowly, silently, awareness began to creep back in and Harry could feel the world around him seeping back into his senses. His own heartbeat, a violent a tattoo against his chest, was the first sign of his returning conscious. He could once more hear the voices of his past, but they existed as mere echoes in his semiconscious mind. He felt the deep pull of air filling his lungs before releasing into the black space around him, there was a soft press against his back and his hands spasmed reflexively as his senses grew. A cloth bunched between his fingers, signaling a soft sheet beneath his back.

As his senses grew, so too did his memory rebuild, and as these memories replayed he felt his breath catch, his back stiffened, and his fingers stilled. He listened for sound and heard none; the room was still, the air silent and he laid alone. Then, reflexively, his breath released, his grasp opened, and his body sank into the mattress of the bed he recalled waking up on once before. It was too much to fight. Remaining tense would do he no good; he was alone, it was quiet, and for a time he was willing to sink into this world of blackness, this oblivion.

Harry took a moment to exist in the silence, to reach out his senses and pretend that this calm and quiet was his life, that he was separate from the pain and the hurt of the boy named Harry Potter was another’s. But even this blank blackness was fleeting, and he knew better than this false reality; knew that he was Harry Potter and no matter his own desires that this was the world as it existed for him. No good would come of pretending otherwise. He opened his eyes.

It was a slow process, as his lids weighed heavily over his eyes. His whole body was heavy with the excess release of magic felt across his limbs. He recalled his most recent magical outburst and saw, from the view of an outsider, how his own magic slowly built and eventually ripped around him, tearing through the room and threatening the few items within. He remembered the clash of Voldemort’s magic against his own, felt the true power of the Dark Lord as the man’s power overwhelmed his own…and he was grateful. Grateful for the forced suppression in of his own magic as he knew that he held no control in that moment.

Harry squinted against the sun light filtering through the window and into his eyes. He hated it, had hated everything in that moment. The loss of control he knew had been teetering on the edge of for nearly a year. How his conscious mind had separated from his body and how he saw everything but had no ability to affect his magic, as it fed from his anger, seeking to release the pain felt by his very own soul.

And he hated the sense of release he had found in that same moment, hated that in that moment there was a feeling of near peace and openness he could never remember having before. For that fleeting moment he had felt his magic run free. Then the break, the divide he had so desperately needed but could not create on his own, as his anger overrode and drove his magic.  It had felt unnatural, feeling a solid force simultaneously cage him and disconnect him from his own core, forcing him to shut down…to stop thinking.

More than anything else he despised his gratitude towards the man who murdered his parents. While he was unable to force a halt to his own actions Voldemort had. In that moment Voldemort had acted more honestly than anyone had been willing to do before. Ron, Hermione, Sirius Lupin, Mrs. Weasley, each an everyone had tried to help in their own way but in the end none of them had been willing to do more than coddle him in his anger, causing no small amount of resentment and later disgust in his own actions. Voldemort refused to plicate him, refused to allow his own anger to take force and run with his magic.

He hated it. It was different and disconcerting to feel the minute appreciation for the man who had been actively hunting him for years. Voldemort, who deepened his isolation with his persistent attempts on his life, the man who, as Luna had said, would want him to feel “cut off from everybody else”, the monster who had ensure his isolation through the lightning bolt scar given at age one and now reinforced that isolation this confinement; but still, the only one who actively halted his magical outburst from obliterating everything around it.

Harry was no fool, he new that the man had acted with nothing more than self-interest. If left to its own devices his anger and magic would have torn the room apart and threatened anyone inside. He pushed himself into a sitting position, mindful of his stiff body and sore muscles. It was too confusing, feeling grateful to the monster he hated. Harry continued to push himself up until he positioned himself at the edge of the bed, feet touching the floor.

He stood up and slowly moved over to the window of his newest prison, thinking on what had set off his anger. He was alone. Which was really no different than usual but this time it felt different. There was nothing, no avenue for him to take and no chance for rescue that he could see. As Voldemort had said so gleefully, no one would be able to reach him. Not behind Voldemort’s personal wards. He had no options; no control and he had had enough. His magic had responded in the only way it knew how and lashed out…and for a moment it felt good. It had felt right to release his magic from the tight control he had not even realized he had.

He reached the window and looked out. Harry’s eyes widened, and he felt his breath halt for a moment as his eyes took in the world before him. There was everything and nothing to see outside the window. There was no sign of civilization, no roads, no homes, no towns…nothing, nothing but trees. Outside the window was an expanse of forest larger than any he had seen before, including the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts. The age of the forest was apparent in the growth of the trees.

Harry blinked, allowing the impact of what he was seeing to penetrate his mind. If this small picture of the outside world was any indication, then getting out of the castle would be but one obstacle. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the glass, the gesture feeling oddly reminiscent of when he was forced back to the Dursley’s. Even if he were to somehow find his escape from this room and this…house…manor the forest before him held no promise of reprieve. There would be no telling what lay in wait in those woods for those foolish enough to venture in. His eyes opened, and he lifted his head from the cool glass, but he remained where he stood silently watching as the sun continued to cross the top of the endless tree line.  

He had no idea of how long he stood there, seemingly mesmerized by the display. He was briefly started to see a Thestral fly above the trees and doing a few loops before dipping back below. It could have been minuets or hours that Harry stood there, he didn’t notice how the sky began to deepen or the sun sinking below the tree line. The passing minutes didn’t register in his brimming mind. His head was too filled with thoughts of everything that had occurred, every thought he had had in the past 24 hours, the how, the why…and the blame.

Harry was so enraptured in his own thoughts he never heard the slight pop announcing a house elf, nor did he note the soft clink of a patter on a wood surface in the otherwise silent room. He also failed to register the click of the door as it was opened a few hours later. Lost as he was he had continued to stare blankly out at the wall of green, now deep orange, that stretched before him; bracing his weight against the frame of the window, mind whirling in an endless cycle.

“I see you are enjoying the view.” A soft voice came from behind startling him enough that he jumped and banged his head against the glass.

Mentally cursing his own obliviousness, he turned, rubbing his hand against his forehead where it had connected with the glass, and feeling his irritation rise at the sight of the smug smirk gracing the Dark Lord’s Lips (and how weird was it that this man… no monster had lips). He continued to stare, unnerved by the appearance of the monster before him because this was not the monster he knew. The monster that was Voldemort was lipless for one, he was scaly, with no nose to speak of and no hair to brush the back of his neck. The monster that stepped from the cauldron looked frail and skeletal, and nothing like the well built and healthy individual that stood before him. This individual was an unknown and it furthered Harry’s unease. At least with the monster he knew he could anticipate the curses, but with their last interaction fresh in his mind the seeming clarity with which the man had spoken and the surprisingly painless method in which the man had neutralized his magic, he felt very much wrong footed.

Voldemort’s head tilted slightly as if he were examining a fascinating specimen and Harry felt the strength of his gaze through penetrating red eyes. He held that gaze, refusing to be the one to avert his eyes. Then Voldemort surprised him by turning his own gaze away. He looked to the right before strolling around the bed to the far side. “I see you have not eaten the food Keagan prepared for you” he said gesturing to the small table and platter Harry had failed to notice before. He felt a brief flick of surprise as he took hesitant steps toward the bed, opposite from the side Voldemort was on. He was further surprised when the man lifted the lid to reveal what was beneath. A small roast chicken with green beans and a baked potato, still steaming from the preservation charm the elf must have applied.

What ever he had been expecting, it was not that Voldemort would allow him to eat at all, much less anything of this seeming quality. The feeling of being in unknow waters grew as Voldemort was acting very much outside of his usual persona. Harry simply stared at the man before him, not knowing what to do or what to say at the situation before him.

***

Voldemort stared back at the boy before him, thinking that the silence of the child was something unanticipated as he had always seemed to have some sort of retort to make, usually in the form of an entertaining comeback. He offered another smug smirk, knowing it seemed to irritate Potter more than words at times. The boy bristled.

“Why?”

Voldemort furrowed his brow slightly at the vagueness of the word. “Why what exactly, Harry if there is something you wish to know you will have to be more specific in what you are asking.” He flashed his teeth in a predatory smile waiting for the bite at the bait. He did not have to wait long

“Why did you trick me to the ministry? Why not go yourself? Why am I here? Why not in your dungeon? Why did you give me a bed, a window? Why haven’t you been torturing me? Why do you have lips, a nose, hair! Why are you acting…not cruel? Why… no how did you stop my magic so simply? Why have you not killed me?”

Voldemort blinked, briefly surprised by the seeming cold tones of the boy before him. From all that he had been told Potter held a temper to rival his own at times, but the way he had just spoken. Not once in his rant did the boy raise his voice in his anger, surprising him in his control. His emotions were clear though, Voldemort could feel them in the undercurrent o the boys words, and through their connection. The boy was angry and agitated, but also strongly confused by the situation he found himself in.

He placed the cover back over the dish and moved back towards the other side of the room, circling the boy much as he had done the previous night. Stopping just behind the boys left side he responded, allowing his breath to wash over the boy’s neck as he leaned close. “You ask why. Why did I lure you to the ministry? That answer is simple. I needed you to retrieve for the prophecy as only you or I could, and I could not do so without risking my anonymity. A fool’s question really Potter, and I believe that also answers your second question as well. As to why you are here and not in my dungeon… well simply put, there is something I am curious about and I will only discover it in time. In that time, I wish for no interference and I will be keeping you with reach easy reach, and that would not be my dungeon. In giving you a bed and a window…well would you really prefer to sleep on a cold dungeon floor? I could arrange that if it is the case, either way you would not be leaving this room. In truth though I have no immediate plans to kill you, and no desire to hear incessant whining.”

“Furthermore, torturing you would for the sheer reason of torture would, at this point, yield no benefit to my own desires, though I will not deny that your pain is my pleasure. In relation to my appearance… did you really think I would voluntarily remain in the form of a snake hybrid?” He waived his wand falling back into his Voldemort persona. His voice raising several octaves to a frozen hiss with a sibilant tongue, “no, this is nothing more than by design Harry Potter.” He moved back in front of the boy and reveled in the flinch that he received as he grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him to the other side of the bed before pushing him down and pulling the laden table close to the bed. He noted the ease with which he maneuvered the boy and wondered how much of it was from his weakened state and how much from his lack of build. He filled the question away for later consideration. “Eat” he hissed, not sure if he really cared if the boy ate or not. Harry simply stared at him, looking no less confused and making no attempt to eat the food before him. “I believe you next inquires as to my cruelty, or lack thereof.” He allowed an evil smirk to cross his features. “I assure you Harry should you really wish to feel my cruelty I would be more than Happy to oblique” The boy shuddered at the blatant promise of those cold words. “And for not killing you, as I said I currently have no desire to do so, I will not explain beyond a curiosity have yet to squash. To answer your final question on how I could “stop your magic” I did no such thing. I simply contained you within a field of my own magic and briefly severed your connection to you core. I was enough of a disruption to shock both you and your magic into a malleable state.” There was no need to tell the boy just how much of his own magic out he increased to overcome Harry’s own.

He hummed in consideration. “To be honest Potter, I am surprised you had woken as early as you had. Most would need 12 hours or more to regain their senses after being disconnected from their magic’s core.” Harry looked down at this seeming to zero in on the dome of the covered dish in contemplation. Voldemort closed his eyes and allowed his Dark Lord persona to melt away. “Harry” The boys eye snapped up at the change in his voice from the high and cold hiss to the rich baritone few heard; there was weariness apparent in the emerald depths, as if his natural appearance unnerved the boy. Good.

He paused before continuing in a commanding, but softer tone “I will not say it again, eat” he was unsure exactly why he said it, it must be because he had yet to study the boy and he could not do so if the boy expired due to his own stubborn nature.

***

Harry looked back down at the dish and slowly reached out towards it removing the lid from the still steaming meal beneath. The conversation with Voldemort had left him feeling more confused than before. Once more Voldemort had done something very few had deemed to do in his past. He was honest. Sure, many would say that the man before him simply did so for his own perverse pleasure, and they would but right, but on some level it felt like there was behind it. Voldemort’s answers appeared to be considered, measured; each question methodically addressed with no hesitation to a single response. Again, people would remind him that Voldemort was, had always been, a talented liar, but this time his words seemed to strike a chord with Harry; maybe it was due to whatever connection they shared between them, and, more specifically, Harry did not feel as if the man’s answers had been a lie.

More ever he had had no reason to lie. Voldemort Had him exactly were he wanted him with no means of escape that he could see. Why would he lie when Harry was his to do with as he pleases? The idea that Voldemort was being more honest with him in the past 15 minutes that Dumbledore had been the entire year did nothing to help his current resentment towards the headmaster. He lifted the fork and very nearly stabbed it in his rising anger at the one man who could have prevented his current situation, simply by not doing exactly what the monster, who been trying to kill him for years, was easily doing and, when Harry really thought about it, had always done in their shared past.

Harry missed the calculation crossing in the red eyes staring at him as he began to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so in all honesty I am not sure how I am feeling about this one. Writing the influx/confused Harry was defiantly tripping my trigger and it defiantly lacked a bit of my preferred Harry/Voldemort interaction. In the end though I felt I needed to have a flow like this,, since it will be integral to the story. As always I appreciate comments and criticism. Thank you for reading!


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